Every Fairytale Needs A Good Old Fashioned Ending
by QueenMoriarty
Summary: Set post-Reichenbach Fall. Scotland Yard hires a new detective, Melissa Hughes, who seems to match Sherlock Holmes' intellect, but is hiding a dark secret. Sherlock's return leaves Melissa feeling like she has been pushed aside. But when Moriarty offers his services to help her return to the top, will she end up falling for the Consulting Criminal? J. Moriarty/OC Female. WIP.
1. The New Detective

**Author's Note: This story will eventually be James Moriarty/OC Female. But first, I have to set the stage. I promise the story gets better in later chapters!**

**Chapter One: The New Detective**

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It had been three months since Sherlock Holmes' death. Greg Lestrade sat at his desk, wondering what to do. It was nearly five o'clock. He had spent the afternoon peering out the window in his office, contemplating the decision his superiors had come to earlier that morning.

Sherlock Holmes' death had come as a shock to him. Lestrade had considered him a friend. He just couldn't believe that Holmes had hired an actor named Richard Brook to play the part of James Moriarty. No matter what was splattered across the newspaper and magazine headlines, Lestrade couldn't bring himself to lose faith in Holmes.

With Sherlock gone, Lestrade was finding it hard to keep up with all the unsolved murders that were stacking up on almost a daily basis. Since Sherlock Holmes' death, London murderers seemed to be running rampant.

Lestrade's superiors had decided that they needed to hire a new detective within Scotland Yard. And it seemed they had already selected someone for the job. The new detective would arrive at five to meet with Lestrade. It seemed that Lestrade wouldn't even have a say in who would be working in his own police department. Ever since his boss had belittled him for allowing a "vigilante detective" to see "private documents," Lestrade had been weary of him.

A knock sounded upon Lestrade's door. He turned his chair away from the window to face his desk.

"Come in," Lestrade said, fixing the picture of his wife (with whom he had recently reconciled) upon his desk.

The door opened. Lestrade looked up to see a young woman standing in the doorway. She stepped inside.

"Hello," she said. "My name is Melissa Hughes."

"Oh, I've been expecting you," Lestrade responded. The woman had long, curly, reddish brown hair. She was wearing very little makeup, but she was very pretty. She had a black peacoat slung over her arm. Her black dress that came to just above the knee. She was also wearing black pumps and Lestrade could see the red sole of the heel. "Sit down, please."

She gracefully walked to the chair across from Lestrade and sat down.

"So you're a detective," Lestrade said, eyeing the young woman before him.

"Would I be here if I weren't?" she teased with a smile.

Lestrade didn't smile back. She probably couldn't even find her way out of a paper bag.

"If you don't mind me saying," she said, leaning forward and lowering her voice, "I believe in Sherlock Holmes. James Moriarty was real."

Lestrade was shocked. A complete stranger believed in Sherlock Holmes as well?

"Richard Brook is a fake," she continued.

Maybe this woman wouldn't be so bad after all.

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	2. An Easy Case

**Chapter Two: An Easy Case**

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The next morning, Melissa sped her way to the spot Lestrade had just texted her. Apparently there was already a case she could work on. While Lestrade had seemed uptight yesterday, he had seemed to relax a little once she had revealed that she believed in Sherlock Holmes. He had issued her a gun and tried to tell her how to use it. She then kindly informed him that she knew how to use one. It's not like she had gone through police training or anything.

As she turned down the large driveway that matched the address Lestrade had given her, she was greeted by flashing lights and police officers everywhere. Stepping out of her car, she approached a female officer with rather large curly hair who stood near the caution tape that surrounded the large house.

"_You_ must be the new detective," the woman said, as if Melissa were below her.

"Yes. Melissa Hughes," she said, extending her hand.

"Sally Donovan," she said, shaking Melissa's hand. She held the caution tape up as Melissa ducked under it. "Watch your step," she added, with a smirk on her face.

Melissa approached the front door only to be greeted by a very ugly man.

"Ah, the new resident detective has arrived," he said over his shoulder, smugly.

Melissa saw all the policemen inside turn towards her. She chose to ignore them, turning towards the obnoxious man standing in her way.

"And you are?" she said, eyeing him up.

"Anderson," he said, with a smirk.

"Oh, the one who's having an affair with Donovan," Melissa replied, smiling back.

"Wh…Uh…Excuse me?" Anderson stuttered, stepping back.

"I mean unless you and Donovan just happen to wear the same Chanel lipstick in hazelnut…How long is your wife in the Bahamas for?" she continued, narrowing her eyes at Anderson.

"How do you know that my wife is away?" he asked, ignoring the first part.

"A lucky guess," Melissa replied, pushing past Anderson. She spotted Lestrade entering the foyer and walked towards him.

"Hello there," Lestrade said. "Ready to see the body?"

"Am I ever," Melissa responded. She had been solving crimes for years in her hometown of Bradford. She had attended college in London and found it hard to leave. But when this job opportunity presented itself a few days ago, she couldn't believe her luck.

"Follow me," Lestrade said, leading her to a gorgeous dining room.

There was a young woman lying on the ground. She had no obvious signs of an injury but Melissa knelt beside her to get a better look. Her mouth was slightly open and she could see some sort of powder on her tongue. A glass lay in her hand, what looked like wine was spread in a stain upon the carpet.

"She's been poisoned," Melissa explained.

"Well even I could've told you that," announced Anderson. "The poison was in the wine."

Melissa rolled her eyes, glad she had her back to him. After looking around the body for another minute, she had already solved the case.

"The gardener did it," she said, standing up. Anderson and Lestrade gaped at her. "Well can't you see?" She pointed at the body. "There's dirt on the hem of her skirt. Probably rubbed of on her when she was kissing the gardener. They were having an affair. But he couldn't risk his wife knowing. So he killed his mistress."

"How on earth could you have known that by looking at the body for less than five minutes?" Anderson asked, staring at her suspiciously.

"I observed," she responded. "Look. She even has a fresh flower in her hair. It's the same one that's in the garden. The gardener picked this flower and placed it in her hair, trying to be nothing but kind and gentle. She had no idea that he was going to kill her."

"Sir?" Donovan addressed Lestrade, entering the dining room.

"Yes?" Lestrade answered.

"The Detective Commissioner is on the phone. He wants to know how the new detective is doing," Donovan replied, giving Melissa a very obvious dirty look.

"Well you can tell him that she's doing just fine," Lestrade responded, smiling and awkwardly draping an arm around her shoulder. "She's just solved her first case."

Donovan's mouth stood ajar.

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	3. The MOR Murder

**Author's Note: I do not own any of these characters! Enjoy.**

**Chapter Three: The MOR Murder**

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Much later that evening, Melissa paced back and forth in her living room, thinking about the dead woman she had examined earlier.

A knock sounded on her front door and she jumped. She crept to the door and peered through the peephole. Noticing a familiar face she pulled the door open.

"Hello," she said with a smile.

"Hi. My name's – "

"Dr. John Watson. I know," she interrupted him. Extending a hand to him, she said, "Detective Melissa Hughes."

"I'm sorry to bother you, but Greg asked if I'd like to meet you," John said. "He tried calling but you didn't answer your phone. I'm sorry, but I felt like I couldn't wait."

So _that's_ what that annoying buzzing noise had been.

"Oh it's fine. Please, come in," she said. She stepped aside so John could enter. She closed the door and led him to her living room. "Would you like anything to drink?"

John didn't respond right away as he looked around. He was obviously taking in her posh London flat. "Oh…um, no thanks."

John didn't sit yet as he continued to look around. "Are you…rich…or something?" John asked slowly.

"Sort of," Melissa responded, trying not to laugh. John looked like a small child admiring an enormous ice cream cone. "My entire family was wealthy, so I kind of inherited a lot of money."

"Oh," John said, finally sitting down.

Melissa crossed the room and sat in an armchair. "So what can I do for you, Dr. Watson?"

"Call me John," he said.

"Alright, John_,_" she acceded.

"Do you think – " John started, but Melissa's phone began buzzing. It almost fell off the table, but Melissa grabbed it. It was Lestrade.

"Hello?" Melissa said.

"Hi. We've got another murder on our hands. I think you should see this," Lestrade replied.

"Alright. Text me the address," she said. After Lestrade hung up, Melissa stood. "I'm sorry. There's been another murder and I have to go."

"Oh," John said, standing as well.

Melissa grabbed her coat and started for the door. As she opened the door and let John pass her, she noticed that John looked sad.

"John?" she said tentatively. He turned around. She paused for a moment, before she asked, "Would you like to come with me?"

"Would I ever," John responded with a smile.

* * *

As Melissa sped towards the location Lestrade had texted her, John sat in the passenger seat with a smile.

"Enjoying this?" Melissa said, making a left turn.

"Oh, yeah," John said. At least she was taking his mind off Sherlock. Lately Sherlock filled his every waking moment. After Sherlock's death, John tried his best to push Sherlock out of his mind. But within the past few weeks, Sherlock refused to get out of his head. In the past few nights, Sherlock had begun to haunt his dreams as well.

Melissa pulled up to a row of stores surrounded by police. Donovan walked out the door as Melissa and John approached the building.

"Well, well," Donovan said with a huge smirk. "Just can't stay away from detectives, can you? Seems this one is almost as crazy as the last."

Melissa narrowed her eyes at Donovan and replied, "At least I'm not the one having an affair with Anderson."

Donovan's smirk left her face. "Did _he_ tell you that?" she asked, motioning towards John.

"Of course not. I knew before I ever met John," Melissa replied, with a slight smile. "I observed what's right in front of me."

John looked at Melissa. The similarities between her and Sherlock were uncanny. The first time he had met Donovan, Sherlock pointed out that she and Anderson were having an affair. And Sherlock always said that he observed what was in front of him.

"Melissa!" Lestrade's voice sounded behind Donovan. Melissa brushed past an angry-looking Donovan and John followed, amused.

Lestrade stood in a doorway at the back of the store. "She's in here."

Melissa crossed the room, John trailing behind her. Lestrade motioned them into the backroom. Melissa approached the body, searching for clues, but John stayed near the door.

There, on the floor, was a woman sitting in a pool of blood. She had been shot once in the head, but she clearly hadn't been dead very long. Melissa crouched near the body to examine what looked like letters on the ground. Next to the dead woman's head, written in blood were the letters "ΜOR." There seemed to be the start of another letter, but the pool of blood cut it off.

"M. O. R," she whispered. _Moriarty?_ She doubted he would be so obvious about a murder like this. He was trying to hide, not show the world he was real.

Melissa pulled on rubber gloves and picked up the victim's right hand. There was a red stain there. The murderer had clearly used the victim's own finger to write the letters in her blood.

Melissa continued to look around the body. She spotted something between the dead woman's clenched fingers of her left hand. Melissa removed a magnifying glass from her pocket and inspected it more closely. It was a piece of black material, possibly something the victim had ripped off the murderer.

When she finally stood and turned around, she found that some police officers had crowded the doorway, watching her investigate. She gave them a slight smile and pulled Lestrade aside.

"The only evidence I can see are the letters and the piece of black material between her fingers," Melissa said, keeping her voice down, as all the police officers began their own work again. She had a feeling they were still listening though, judging by their covert looks. "I think that MOR could possibly be Moriarty."

Lestrade nodded, but didn't say anything.

"And the piece of cloth was probably torn from the murderer's clothing or something linked to the murderer," Melissa continued. Lestrade nodded once more.

"MOR?" John's voice sounded behind them. Melissa and Lestrade turned to see John kneeling beside the body.

John glanced up at Melissa and Lestrade, eyes wide. His face seemed to drain of color as Melissa helplessly watched.

"John," Melissa began, but John just closed his eyes. After a moment, he opened his eyes and headed for the door.

"Excuse me," he said as he walked out.

Lestrade looked at Melissa then glanced at the body. He sighed. Then he turned to Anderson and walked out of the room, leaving Melissa staring at the body. Chills crept up Melissa's spine.

Suddenly, she felt terribly alone.

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**Thanks for reading!**


	4. A Drink With Dr Watson

**Chapter Four: A Drink With Dr. Watson**

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A few nights later, Melissa sat at her kitchen table, staring out the window. Rain fell slowly from the dark sky and trickled down her large, picture window. There had been no new murders resembling the "MOR" one.

A knock upon the door made Melissa jump. She wasn't expecting anyone. She had immediately thrown on a pair of faded navy blue jeans and a white T-shirt when she had gotten home from work. She slowly and silently made her way to the door and peered through the peephole. It was John.

She opened the door, inviting John inside.

"How are you?" Melissa asked. She hadn't seen John since he had left the dead woman's flat a few nights earlier.

John didn't answer right away, running his hand over his face. "Tired," he finally responded. "You?"

"Me too," Melissa agreed.

"I was wondering if you wanted to get a drink?" John asked. He stuffed his fists into his pockets, looking somewhat nervous.

"Sure," Melissa said with a smile. She genuinely looked forward to hanging out with John, although she hoped he wasn't thinking she liked him romantically. "Let me grab my coat."

She walked into her bedroom, nearly tripping over her Louboutins that were strewn across her floor. Normally she obsessively cleaned everything, but this case had begun to take up all her time. She grabbed her jacket that she had haphazardly thrown on an armchair earlier.

When Melissa returned to her front hall, John was looking at all the framed photos in the foyer. As she grabbed a pair of sneakers from the closet, John picked up a photo of Melissa and another brunette girl, who looked to be a few years younger than Melissa.

"Is this your sister?" John asked.

"Yeah," Melissa said, walking over to where John stood. "My younger sis, Stephanie."

"She looks just like you," John replied, still admiring the photo.

"Some people think she's my clone," Melissa said, with a sad laugh. Her sister was nearly ten years younger than her. Their father had passed away when Melissa was sixteen and her mother had gone completely insane soon after. Melissa hadn't even seen her sister in almost seven years. She took a deep breath, trying to forget just how crazy her life had been prior to her move to London.

"These family photos are all really old," Melissa said, placing the photo of herself and Stephanie back on the table of photos. "I haven't seen my family since before I went to college, and even then things were really messed up."

John sighed. "I know what having a messed up family is like," he said, gingerly placing a hand on Melissa's arm.

They were silent for a moment.

"I apologize," Melissa said, suddenly realizing they were supposed to be getting a drink. "We should stop moping when there are drinks to be had."

John laughed, opening her door.

"After you," he said, gesturing towards the open door.

* * *

Melissa and John walked into a small bar in a quaint part of London. There was a considerable amount of people in the bar, even though it was a Wednesday night. Since the bar was full of people, Melissa and John found a small table in a corner across from the bar. John worked his way up to the bar and came back a few minutes later, two drinks in hand.

"Thanks," Melissa said, flashing him a smile.

"Your welcome," John responded with a smile as well.

Music by _Molotov Jukebox _played in the background. Melissa tapped her fingers on the table. She loved Natalia Tena and her band.

John began explaining his time spent in Afghanistan and Melissa listened intently. She couldn't imagine what life at war must be like. As Melissa was about to begin a tale about her time spent at college, a voice interrupted her.

"Melissaaaa!" a voice slurred and a clearly drunk young man approached the table. Melissa seemed to stiffen in her seat.

As the man approached, John noticed that he was blond, had ice blue eyes, and seemed to be in impeccable shape. Melissa looked extremely unhappy.

"How ya beeeeen, baaabe," the man said, leaning on the table to hold himself up.

"Alright," Melissa replied in a clipped voice. "I see you haven't changed much."

The man let out a laugh. "There's the sarcastic Mel I knew," he continued, with a slur.

"I'm not being sarcastic," Melissa replied, glancing at John.

"Aren't you going to introduce me to your boyfriend here?" the man slurred again, waving his arms towards John. He had to brace himself from falling though, and almost knocked Melissa's drink over.

"No, I don't think I will," Melissa said, moving her drink out of the man's reach and blatantly ignoring the 'boyfriend' reference.

"I'm her ex," the man garbled. "Steve Rogers."

Melissa rolled her eyes. "Steve Rogers? Honestly? Someone clearly wishes he were Captain America. Seems as though you also wish you were even remotely in my league."

The man laughed.

"I think we should leave, John," Melissa said, grabbing her purse and standing up.

"_Jaawwwnnnnn_," the man yelled, draping his arm over John's shoulder as John stood up. "You seem like a really great guy."

John placed the man in the seat he had just vacated and followed Melissa out the door. Once they had walked to the corner, Melissa turned to him.

"Sorry," she said, running a hand through her hair. "I went to college with him. He obviously still hasn't gotten over the fact that I didn't go out with him. He's cute, but he's _such _a loser."

"Well, he certainly seems that way," John replied. "What should we do now?"

Melissa glanced at her watch. "Actually I should probably be heading back to my flat. I have work tomorrow morning."

John nodded and they said their goodbyes. He hoped they would see each other again soon.

As John turned to catch a cab, a tall curly-haired man in a long, black overcoat who looked strikingly like Sherlock, caught his eye. But when John spun around to take another look, no one was there.

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**Thanks for reading! Please review.**


	5. Too Many Loose Ends

**Chapter Five: Too Many Loose Ends**

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The next morning, Melissa sat at her desk at Scotland Yard. The phone on her desk began to ring and she reached to answer it. A woman informed her that Lestrade needed her at a crime scene and that he had sent a car for her.

Melissa left her office to find that the police station seemed to be rather empty. She took the elevator down to the ground floor and exited the building to find a black Mercedes waiting in front of the building.

She opened the back door only to see a woman sitting in the back, phone in hand.

"Who are you?" Melissa asked.

"…Lily," the woman said after a brief pause and a glance up from her phone. Melissa narrowed her eyes, aware that this was not the woman's real name.

The woman smiled at her, then said, "Get in. My boss wants to talk to you."

Melissa hesitantly climbed in. She had a hunch that if she didn't willingly get in the car, she would be forced to anyway.

"Where are we going?" she asked, watching London pass by the windows.

The woman stopped texting for a moment, then responded, "My boss doesn't believe in hints."

Melissa once more focused her attention upon the landscape that was flashing by her eyes. She soon had a hard tome identifying her surroundings as they headed into a small area of London she had never visited.

The car drove down an alleyway, which then gave way to a cobblestoned street. As the car approached the only building that seemed to be open, Melissa felt the car slowing down.

The car stopped and the woman motioned for Melissa to get out of the car. Melissa climbed out of the car and it pulled away. Unsure of what to do next, she took in her surroundings. She noticed that the sign on the building ahead of her claimed to be an Irish pub.

Feeling as though she had nothing to lose, Melissa strode up to the door, which stood ajar. Once inside, she realized that almost everyone inside was haphazardly dressed. Some seemed to be dressed in somewhat fancy attire while others seemed to be dressed as hippies, American Indians, and vampires. No two people seemed to logically fit in a place like this.

The bartender, on the other hand, looked as though he were exactly where he belonged. He had a huge sneering grin upon his face as well as tattoos upon both arms and his neck.

"You the detective?" he snarled.

Melissa hesitated for a split-second. Should she be broadcasting her status here?

Finally she nodded, feeling that whatever she did at this point probably didn't really matter. If she were being led right into some sort of trap, then so be it.

"Right through that door," the bartender growled, pointing toward a doorway concealed by a curtain of beads.

"Thanks," Melissa replied, eyeing the bartender's meaty hands and awful complexion.

She crossed the room, parting the beads with her right hand.

"Ah, come in," a voice sounded within the room.

Melissa fully entered the room, finding that it was lit by candlelight. There were two rather large, plush beanbag chairs facing each other. The chair facing Melissa was occupied by a man with a very strong nose and an umbrella across his knee. She approached the chair nearest herself and tentatively sat down.

"Well, well, well," the man began. "The new detective."

Melissa waited for him to continue, but only silence ensued.

"And who are you, exactly?" she asked after a moment of silence.

"Mycroft Homes," the man responded, extending a hand towards her. She shook it as he continued, "How silly of me to forget to introduce myself."

"I doubt it was an oversight," she countered, withdrawing her hand from his.

Mycroft smiled slightly.

"So what exactly am I doing here?" Melissa asked, giving the candlelit room another strange look.

"I apologize for my surroundings," Mycroft said, ignoring Melissa's question. "This was the best I could do on such short notice. You see, the bartender is an acquaintance of mine and was willing to spare this room for my purposes."

"The bartender is 'an acquaintance?'" Melissa questioned, unable to comprehend Mycroft having any acquaintances at all.

"Yes," he replied. "I assure you that this is not the type of place I typically spend my Thursday evenings." Melissa's gaze fell upon his expensive suit and shoes. Clearly, he spent his evenings in a much more classy spot. But still, he hadn't answered Melissa's question.

"What am I doing here?" she tried again.

"You show a knack for investigating that seems to almost rival my late brother's," Mycroft explained, still failing to answer her question. "Since your arrival, I have been closely following Scotland Yard's cases. You never miss a thing, no matter how small it may be."

He paused for a moment. Melissa was about to voice her annoyance at the dodging of her question, when he continued, "I've been looking more closely at my brother's death and there are many loose ends that don't add up."

Again, he paused, as if Melissa were supposed to figure out what she were doing here solely from his brief explanation.

Mycroft tried to give her a small smile, but it resembled something closer to a grimace.

"I want you to take a closer look into my brother's death," Mycroft finally explained.

It was silent for a moment and one of the candles flickered, casting an eerie shadow across the wall.

"You must be joking," Melissa replied.

"Do I seem the type to joke?" he countered. "Will you do it?"

"Absolutely not," Melissa said, standing up. "I refuse to investigate a case that has already been established as a suicide."

"You have confidence in our…friends…at Scotland Yard?" Mycroft replied with another grimace.

Melissa didn't answer but took a step towards the door.

"Look, I've read the newspaper articles, I've watched the press coverage. Nothing seems out of the ordinary," she said calmly.

"But you don't believe in 'Rich Brook.'" It wasn't a question.

"I don't. But I highly doubt that Sherlock could have faked a fall like that. It would've killed anyone on impact," Melissa said and took two more steps towards the door.

Mycroft leaned back in his chair and laced his fingers together.

"Mr. Holmes, I have been to the scene. I checked out the roof of St. Bart's myself and the sidewalk below. Granted, his suicide happened months before I was there but piecing together what the newspapers say helped me recreate what happened."

"Mmm," Mycroft replied.

"I apologize Mr. Holmes, but I have no interest in reopening the case of your brother's suicide," Melissa explained. The last thing Melissa needed was to be linked to a reinvestigation of Sherlock Holmes' suicide. Sherlock's life had become a huge topic in the press just before his death as he was wanted by the police for questioning in the kidnapping of two children. By the time of his death, he had been utterly torn apart by the media and everyone seemed to believe the vicious rumors that the so-called 'Richard Brook' had told a reporter.

"Thank you for your time," he answered.

Taking that as a dismissal, Melissa pushed her way back through the beads, emerging in the bar once more. As she crossed the room towards the exit, she could feel stares boring into the back of her head.

As she reached the door, she threw a glance over her shoulder. The skeevy bartender was grinning at her, a rag in one hand and a dirty glass in the other.

Not only were there no cars in sight as she stepped outside, but it had also begun to rain. The least Mycroft could've done was lent her his umbrella.

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**Please review! Thanks for reading!**


	6. The Return

**On a random note, I met Chris Colfer last night and he is SO ADORABLE. And SO INCREDIBLY SWEET. So far, I'm a little more than halfway through his book, _The Land Of Stories: A Wishing Spell_, and I love it. **

**And now...some replies to these two lovely reviewers:**

**Kuon: I couldn't decide if Mycroft actually _wanted _Melissa to look into Sherlock's death...or if he was sending her a warning that Sherlock _is _still alive. I lean more towards the latter based on what Sherlock says to her in this chapter, but it's really up to you!  
**

**AsgardianTank59: Thanks so much!**

**Anyway...back to the story!**

**Chapter 6: The Return**

* * *

_**Six**_** _month_****_s_**_** later.**_

After an uneventful day at Scotland Yard, Melissa lounged on the couch in front of the fireplace in her flat. She had put on a pair of black leggings and an oversized purple sweater as well as a fluffy purple throw blanket, but she was still freezing. She looked out the window at the ominous black clouds that were preparing for an imminent downpour.

Though it was beginning to get dark, especially with the storm closing in, Melissa decided not to turn on any lights. The light from the fireplace cast eerie yet beautiful shadows all around the room. She couldn't imagine a better way to spend a rainy afternoon in London.

Expect it was on days like these that her guilt began to eat away at her.

At the moment, she was reliving the moments of that fateful night over and over again in her mind. She looked down and saw that her hands were shaking. Was she just cold…or was she feeling especially guilt-ridden?

Her phone vibrated and she reached out. It was John.

"_Mind if I stop by?" _the text read.

"_Not at all," _Melissa typed back. A few moments later, her doorbell rang. She stood and answered the door.

"Come on in," she said, walking back towards the living room. She sat on the couch again and wrapped herself in the blanket once more.

John sat on the couch next to her. They sat for a few minutes in silence, just staring at the flames leaping within the fireplace. Melissa had always found fire to be utterly entrancing. So beautiful, yet so dangerous.

John glanced at Melissa then looked back at the fire. As he watched the flames dance, he said quietly, "I don't believe that Sherlock ever told me a lie."

Melissa tore her eyes away from the dancing orange tendrils to gaze at John. She was surprised. Though they had been friendly for at least six months, neither he nor Melissa had ever brought Sherlock up.

"I don't think he lied, either," she whispered back.

Melissa suddenly began to feel uncomfortable as she realized just how close John was to her.

John began leaning towards her, and all he could think was that she was so similar to Sherlock. Maybe that was why he felt strangely attracted to her.

Melissa raised a hand and placed it on his chest, stopping his lips a mere centimeter away from her own. "I can't," she said, with a conflicted look on her face. Part of her seemed to be upset, but there was another look he couldn't quite place.

A knock sounded at her door, making both of them jump. Melissa sprang up, draping her blanket over the couch. She approached her door and looked through her peephole.

Melissa felt her jaw drop. She pulled the door open, too shocked to say anything. There, standing in Melissa's doorway, was Sherlock Holmes.

Sherlock walked swiftly past her, into the living room. She heard Sherlock say, "Hello, John," followed by a gasp from John. Melissa still stood in the doorway, unsure of what she had just witnessed.

"Are you planning to join us or will you just stand there gawking at an open door?" Sherlock's voice sounded from the living room. Melissa closed her mouth and shut her door. She then walked slowly to the living room, trying to decide if she were dreaming. She arrived in her living room only to see John standing with his mouth gaping and a finger pointed at Sherlock. John was as shocked as she was to see Sherlock.

Sherlock, Melissa, and John continued to stare at each other for another seconds, before Sherlock glanced at Melissa, saying, "This doesn't come as a surprise to you." It wasn't a question.

Melissa was taken aback.

"I _am _surprised to see you," Melissa said slowly. "Why would you think that I wouldn't be?"

Sherlock turned to fully face Melissa then, taking in her still shocked expression. He frowned.

"You shouldn't be surprised though," he said as if it was the most obvious thing on the planet.

"And why not?"

"Do you _observe _nothing?" Sherlock said, taking a step towards her. Melissa's face changed from shock to something closer to anger.

"I do _observe_ things," Melissa replied indignantly. "But what on _earth _are you going on about?"

Sherlock opened his mouth to respond, but John interrupted, "What the hell?" He no longer looked shocked, but he too looked angry. "You were _alive_ this whole time. And yet you made no contact with me? Do you know how _hard _it's been coming to terms with what I thought was my _best friend's death_? Or do I not matter at all to you?"

Sherlock's face had fallen. "I was only trying to protect you, John," he reasoned quietly.

Melissa felt as though she were intruding on a private moment.

But John wasn't finished. "Do you know how _impossible _it is to carry on with daily life? I can't go for five minutes without you crossing my mind! No matter what I do, you're always there, haunting me. I can't get _over_ you just like that, Sherlock. I _cared _about you. That's what friends _do_. They _care _about each other. They don't _lie _to each other."

Melissa felt even more awkward about witnessing this personal exchange. John was sounding as though Sherlock had broken his heart.

Sherlock looked away from John. "You wouldn't understand."

"Well maybe if you took the time to explain it to me rather than treating me like someone you don't even know, I _would _understand," John countered angrily.

"That's what I'm tryingto do, John," Sherlock said, looking directly at John.

"Oh," John replied and sat down on the couch.

"As I already told you, I was trying to protect you," Sherlock began. "Moriarty had three snipers. One was to shoot you if Moriarty's men didn't see me jump. The other two were to shoot Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade. I believed that I could get Moriarty to call the whole thing off. But then Moriarty shot himself. I had no choice but to jump."

A silence ensued.

"Then how are you here?" John finally managed.

"I had an idea as to what Moriarty was planning and I enlisted the help of Molly. She helped me –"

"_Molly _knew about this?" John cried incredulously. "You told her but not me?"

"I knew that Moriarty would have you watched as you were my best friend. Molly, on the other hand, was a girl who I had never paid much attention to. But what Moriarty didn't know was just how much I trusted Molly. How much she does matter to me." John looked away.

"I counted on the fact that he would underestimate my relationship with Molly." Melissa was slightly confused. Who was Molly? And just what sort of relationship was she having with Sherlock?

"Anyway," Sherlock continued, "Molly and I arranged for a truck to be placed just under the point where I would jump. It was packed with mattresses in order to cushion my fall. I entrusted members of the homeless network to place the body that Molly had provided from the morgue in the correct spot. _That _was why I needed you to stand behind the building. So you wouldn't see what had actually happened. Then a man on a bicycle rammed into you, as planned. I trusted that the shock of seeing your best friend kill himself after admitting that his entire life was a lie then being knocked to the ground would render you incapable of being able to properly identify the body. While the body did in fact resemble myself, even you would've been able to tell the difference had you not been rendered somewhat confused."

Melissa glanced at John, who made a face at Sherlock's insult.

"Didn't you find it odd that people rushed out of the hospital and gathered from all directions to bring the body inside the hospital?" Sherlock asked excitedly. "All of the people milling around were part of the homeless network. They were all informed of what to do. You couldn't be allowed to study the body. You had to feel the pulse to make sure that I was truly dead, but that was all. You couldn't know that I was alive until I was positive that the sniper was no longer watching you. I also needed to know that Moriarty was truly dead."

Melissa blinked. Wait. Moriarty…dead?

"Why do keep saying that Moriarty's dead?" John asked, confused.

"I watched him shoot himself. The body was on the roof when I jumped," Sherlock said.

"Sherlock," John replied slowly. "No body was ever found. The police inspected every inch of that roof. There was no trace of anything up there."

Sherlock frowned and his brow creased. "But he was dead. He opened his mouth, inserted the gun, and pulled the trigger. I watched the blood seep around his head before I jum –" He stopped abruptly. "_Oh. _How clever."

He looked at John as though he were supposed to understand exactly what Sherlock was talking about.

"Care to explain? Because even though you seem to think everything is utterly obvious, it isn't," John said, clearly annoyed.

But it wasn't Sherlock who answered.

"He faked his death," Melissa elucidated. "Just like you faked yours."

"But _how_?" Sherlock complained. "How could the police not find any sign of the blood that was there?"

"He's clever," Melissa responded. "More clever than you or I, apparently."

"Oh, I wouldn't say that he's more clever than _I_ am," Sherlock countered. Melissa raised an eyebrow at the insult.

"Modest, aren't we?" Melissa replied, sarcasm dripping from her words.

"Sherlock's never been one for modesty," John interceded quickly.

"So I've heard," she answered. After a moment she inquired, "Why are you here anyway?"

"It looked as though you needed help with the case," Sherlock revealed.

"So you come back to solve a case with her," John retorted incredulously, "but not to tell me that you're alive?"

"Well I believe the expression is to kill two birds with one stone, as it were," Sherlock said. "And the two of you seemed to be getting pretty close, so I figured I'd say hello."

John shifted on the couch. Melissa glanced awkwardly around the room.

"Well I think that's enough for one night," Sherlock said breezily. He walked towards the door and John stood to follow him.

"Where are you staying anyway?"

"Molly's flat," Sherlock stated, as though it were as common as knowing that the planets revolve around the sun. And with that, he swept out, leaving Melissa and John staring at one another, trying to process what had just happened.

* * *

**Sherlock's Return! ****I just wanted to say that Sherlock's explanation is my own theory of what might have happened. I h****ope you guys liked it! **

******Also, I felt that I _had _to include John making a move, solely because he _always_ hits on the ladies. Plus, it kind of just happened as I wrote it. Then I decided I liked it because Sherlock's jealous that Melissa is getting close to his man. **

**Please review! :)**


	7. You Stole My Job

**Sorry for the shortness of this chapter, but I felt like it didn't belong at the end of the last one nor at the beginning of the next one. Anyway, enjoy!**

**Kuon: If you thought I was terrible for ending the last chapter that way, wait til you read the end of this one! haha :P  
**

**Olivia Von Dread: I'm glad you like it. Moriarty will make his grand entrance in the very near future! :)  
**

**Chapter Seven: You Stole My Job**

* * *

When she arrived at a crime scene a few days later, she was surprised to see only Lestrade's car parked outside the flat. Melissa climbed the stairs to the door and knocked tentatively. Lestrade opened the door and let her in. She was surprised to see Sherlock and John there.

"What's he doing here?" she whispered, closing the door behind her.

"He came over to my flat yesterday," Lestrade whispered quietly, "and explained the whole story. So I invited him to have a look at the victim's flat."

But this was _her _job now. _She_ was the detective that the police were supposed to trust, not Sherlock.

"Melissa," Sherlock said, acknowledging her presence.

"Sherlock," Melissa replied, none too happy to see him.

He was already investigating the books lined upon the shelf in the small living room. She started to climb the stairs when she heard, "Oh, I've already been upstairs. Everything useful's been covered."

Melissa stopped for a moment on the steps and said, "Well, I'm going to have a look around myself. If you don't mind, of course." She was being blatantly sarcastic, but she didn't really care.

She found her way to the victim's bedroom and started to look around. But she couldn't concentrate. Sherlock was stealing her spotlight.

After looking around the room for another five minutes, she descended the steps.

"Find anything useful?" Sherlock asked with a smirk.

"Yeah," Melissa replied. "Loads."

"John, we're leaving," Sherlock said as he swept towards the door.

"Why?" John asked, staying firmly rooted to the spot he was standing. Sherlock hadn't said much about what he had discovered, but then again, when did he ever? Although normally if _had _found something interesting, he would've hightailed it out of the flat and never looked back, leaving John stranded and completely unsure of what to do next.

"I can't work with _her,_" Sherlock said, pointing towards Melissa.

"_Me_? What did _I_ do?" she cried indignantly.

"You stole my job," he replied.

Oh. That.

* * *

Within hours, Sherlock had solved the case. Lestrade had even already made an arrest and released the information to the public through a press conference. Melissa hadn't been invited.

Then again, neither had Sherlock, seeing as he was supposed to be dead. How would Lestrade go about breaking _that _news to the public?

But several weeks later, however, Melissa found herself sitting at her desk, unable to concentrate on the paperwork she was supposed to be completing. Lestrade had just swept past her desk and told her that he was off to a crime scene. He hadn't asked her to come along. Lestrade hadn't bothered to ask her to join them in three weeks. Some detective Melissa had become.

She knew that he would be bringing Sherlock and John, and as Sherlock highly disliked Melissa, she had been demoted to mere paperwork.

She had been completely and utterly usurped by Sherlock's return.

Melissa had once admired Sherlock Holmes. Now that she knew him, she was beginning to absolutely hate him. She hadn't heard much from John either since Sherlock's return. Now that he was back, it seemed John didn't need anyone to distract him anymore.

While Melissa hadn't wanted to become romantically involved with John, she had begun to enjoy her new friendship with him.

But Sherlock had destroyed that too.

Melissa sighed, rereading the summary she had been given. She was expected to write a formal report on a case she hadn't even been involved in. She hadn't even _been _to the crime scene, let alone been given any _important_ details. How did Lestrade expect her to complete it?

She couldn't stop thinking about how Sherlock had ruined her life. Maybe she was just feeling like a bit of a drama queen at the moment, but she was truly hurt by Sherlock's actions.

She should be the detective on these crime scenes. Not Sherlock.

As she contemplated how to begin her report, her phone let out a beep. She picked it up from her desk only to see a text message from an unknown number. The text read: "_We need to talk. Warehouse 3 on Perry Street. Come alone_."

* * *

**Another cliffhanger? muahahahaha**

**No but seriously, I think you guys will really like the next chapter! :P**


	8. We're Alike, You And I

**Kuon and Push To Shove: Both of you asked if it is Jimmy. My answer is mayyyyybe. haha read on to find out :D**

**lacklusterx: Thanks so much! :)  
**

**Anyway, here's my favorite chapter so far!**

**Chapter Eight: We're Alike, You And I.**

* * *

Melissa parked her car in the abandoned parking lot near the warehouses on Perry Street. The warehouses had been abandoned for over twenty years and the road leading to them was bumpy and out of use. She climbed out of her car and shut the door. She looked for Warehouse 3, immediately spotting it on her left.

As she approached the dilapidated building, she patted her jacket pocket to make sure that her gun was still there. She scanned the front of the building for a door, but found that there were only windows twenty feet above her head. Rounding a corner, she found a door hanging by its hinges. There was just enough room for her to squeeze past it without having to push the door open any further.

Melissa drew her gun, keeping it aimed ahead of her. She considered taking her high heels off to stop any noise from warning whom she was about to meet, but decided against it. The place was falling apart and the last thing she needed was to step on something sharp. She walked slowly and silently, trying to be extremely quiet. She looked around the large, somewhat empty room. The ceiling was beginning to cave in in certain parts, letting sunlight in yet also casting eerie shadows everywhere.

She walked across the room until she reached a hallway. On her left, another door stood open. She looked down the hallway first to make sure it was empty. She peered into the seemingly empty room and slowly walked into the room, gun still drawn. She found herself in a room similar to the large one she had just come from. She walked around in a circle, making sure that the room truly was empty. When she was certain there was no one else there, she lowered the weapon to her side. She peered at a grimy window in front of her, trying to decipher what the letters that were written in the grime spelled.

"Hee-eey," a voice singsonged playfully behind her. She whirled around and raised her gun.

"Now, now," said the man, with an Irish accent. "Don't aim that at me," he added with a smile, still nothing but playful.

Melissa remained silent, taking in the scene before her. She didn't lower her weapon. The man stood in the doorway, blocking her only escape from the room. He had dark hair and eyes and was wearing a dark colored suit. She could tell that his dark blue tie had little white skulls on it. She wasn't positive, but his suit looked like it was –

"Westwood," interrupted the voice, as if reading her thoughts. "You're a woman after my own heart." Melissa blinked, confused. "That lovely dress you're wearing is Westwood too." His eyes moved up and down her body. "Ooooh, and Louboutins. _Expensive_." He smiled.

"What do you want?" Melissa asked, ignoring his comment.

"I simply want to chat," he said, taking a few slow steps into the room.

Melissa stepped back. She wouldn't let him get too close.

"Do you normally conduct conversations at gunpoint?" he asked, still approaching her. "That doesn't seem very _friendly_." At that he reached out and lowered her gun with his left pointer finger. "That's better," he added, smirking again.

As he took another step towards her, she raised her gun again, aiming right at his chest. "Take one more step and I will kill you," Melissa threatened.

"Oh, I'm sure you will," he said lightly. She got the feeling he was enjoying teasing her.

"I'm serious," she retorted, taking a small step towards him so that the gun was touching his chest.

"I know you are, darling," he replied softly. He took a small step back, before adding, "Just like you murdered that little boyfriend of yours."

The gun clattered to the floor.

"Never thought that would get out, did you?" he continued as he began to walk around her. "I'm assuming you didn't like the fact that he had another girlfriend?"

Melissa didn't respond. She felt him stop right behind her.

"Wondering how I know?" he said, close to her ear.

Chills ran down her spine. He began walking again, making a full circle. When he was in front of her again, he continued, "I read about you online. Always helping the police solve crimes. But then! – " he continued walking circles around her, " – a murder at your school! And you didn't help with the investigation. Why else would a woman who had been helping out in every other case distance herself from a murder on campus?" He stopped in front of her again. "Because she murdered him."

Melissa could feel the shocked expression on her face. No one was supposed to find out about this. No. One.

"Your friends must not have known you two were together. Otherwise the police would have questioned you," he continued, as he began to slowly walk around her again. "You must've been wondering why he wanted to keep your relationship a secret. But when you found out about his other girlfriend – " he stopped in front of her again, " – well the rest is history. His girlfriend gets framed and you get off. No one knows." He smiled as he finished his tale.

"That's ridiculous," she whispered.

"No," he said, as if speaking to a child. "It's not."

Melissa looked at the floor for a moment, trying to gather her thoughts. She took a deep breath. She then slowly picked her gun off the floor and aimed at Moriarty's chest once more.

"Oh," he said, mock-surprised. "_Interesting_."

"'Rich Brook,'" Melissa said. "Funny how that just happens to translate to Reichenbach in German."

"Goood. You caught that," he replied. "I was beginning to think the joke was lost on everyone but Sherlock. I guess it just goes to show how dull ordinarypeople are."

"What do you want?" Melissa asked him once again.

"I want to help you," he said, leaning towards her.

Melissa narrowed her eyes, waiting for him to elaborate.

"Sherlock is getting in your way," Moriarty alleged. "Let me help you crack your cases wide open before he even has a chance to investigate the crime scene. I can get you back on top."

"Why would you want to help me?" she asked, suspicious of his true intention.

"Because you _deserve_ to be on top," he replied smoothly.

Melissa stared at him and slowly lowered her gun.

"James Moriarty," he finally said, flashing her a smile and extending his hand. Melissa stared at him, not willing to shake hands with the devious consulting criminal. Instead, he reached out for Melissa's left hand and brought it to his lips. Just as he placed a kiss upon her hand, she pulled it from his grip.

"Don't touch me," she said firmly.

He took a step towards her and whispered, "Don't worry, darling. We're alike, you and I."

"I am _nothing_ like you," Melissa spat, pushing past him. She expected him to try to stop her but he made no effort to keep her from running away. She ran back to her car, hoping to put as much space between Moriarty and herself as possible.

* * *

**Moriarty makes his grand entrance! Yay.**

**Thanks for reading! Please review.**


	9. An Encounter In The Park

**Chapter Nine: An Encounter In The Park**

* * *

Later that night, Melissa sat in the living room of her flat, watching as the sky changed from a beautiful turquoise to a very deep violet. The weather had been unusually clear that night, allowing the beautiful colors of the sunset to be seen.

_We're alike, you and I. _

The words haunted her.

The room was becoming increasingly dark. The only light came from the flickering flames of her fireplace.

Melissa had always thought that becoming a detective would somehow solve all her problems. But it didn't change what she had done. Nothing ever would. But was Moriarty right? Was she nothing more than a criminal, like him?

No. She was nothing like him - she had told him so and now she had to stick to it.

Moriarty knew her secret and she knew that he wouldn't think twice about using it against her. She just had to make sure she was ready for whenever he unleashed it.

Her thoughts were racing. She couldn't stop thinking and it was moments like these that made her wish that she could just _turn it off._ Stop thinking and just be.

She tried to close her eyes but all she saw was her ex-boyfriend's face, pale and motionless, or Moriarty's smile, taunting her with the knowledge of her secret.

* * *

Melissa awoke a few hours later feeling utterly disoriented. She sat up to find that she was still on the couch, but the fire had diminished to a small, sputtering orange glow. She glanced at the clock to see that it said 2:43. Looking out the window, she saw that the sky was still unusually clear.

She deliberated for another moment before standing up and stretching. Her mind was still whirling with thoughts of the night she had tried so hard to forget.

She found that walking in the park across the street from her flat always helped to clear her mind. Maybe she was crazy for walking around London in the dead of night, but she didn't really care.

Melissa slipped on a pair of sneakers and wrapped herself in a scarf and jacket. She made sure she had her gun, her phone, and her keys.

Stepping out of her flat, she noticed that it was crisp and chilly. She pulled her jacket more tightly around herself, then locked the door and crossed the street.

The park was silent, as it was most nights like these. Melissa walked for a while and tried to clear her mind. It usually worked, but not tonight. All she could think of was the murder she had committed and her meeting with Moriarty.

She hadn't been surprised to find him alive after Sherlock's tale, yet she had found it unusual that he wanted to help her. He probably didn't even want to help her; more than likely, he wanted to use her to his advantage for some dastardly plan that he had orchestrated.

As she rounded a corner, following the dimly lit path, she saw a figure sitting on a bench ahead of her. She hesitated, considering turning around and walking the other way, before deciding to quicken her pace and continue down the path. The figure would have already spotted her from where he or she was sitting.

But as she approached the bench, she noticed that the man who occupied it was someone familiar.

"Fancy meeting you here," Melissa said softly, stopping in front of him.

He smiled slightly before replying, "I have an apartment in the area."

"Funny we haven't run into each other before then," she replied somewhat sarcastically, catching his bluff.

Moriarty gave a short laugh before his face became serious once more.

"It wasn't the right time for us to meet before," he explained, lacing his fingers together upon his lap. His hair was slightly messed up and his tie was loose and askew. She wondered what he had been up to prior to arriving in the park, but she had a feeling that she probably didn't really want to know. Melissa also noticed that he was still wearing his Westwood suit without a warmer jacket over it. It seemed to be rather chilly and she wondered how he wasn't freezing at the moment.

She settled herself upon the bench next to him and crossed her legs.

"I guess you were kind of right, you know," Melissa said quietly after a minute.

Moriarty gave her a quizzical look.

"You said that we were alike. Clearly we both enjoy late night walks," she elaborated, trying not to crack a smile at her own stupid joke.

Moriarty laughed once more, turning towards Melissa.

"That wasn't quite what I meant," he replied laughingly, and Melissa let out a small laugh as well, knowing all too well that that wasn't what he'd meant.

As they both fell silent a breeze caused the trees surrounding them to rustle. Melissa involuntarily shivered a little bit, pulling her jacket tighter around her.

Before she was even aware of what he was doing, Moriarty had stood up and removed his jacket, draping it around Melissa's shoulders.

"Oh, you didn't have to – "

"You're freezing."

"But you'll be – "

She fell silent under Moriarty's unwavering gaze that clearly indicated that she should shut up. Now he sat in only his ivory button down shirt and loosened dark blue tie. _He must be freezing_, she thought, but she understood that he wanted no further argument.

"Thank you," Melissa finally whispered, as he laced his fingers together and once more placed them upon his lap.

Moriarty looked as though he were about to say something, but then focused his gaze upon the ground instead.

Suddenly, the opening chords of _Stayin' Alive _began to play, followed by: _Well, you can tell by the way I use my walk / I'm a woman's man / No time to talk._

Moriarty glanced at Melissa as he pulled his phone from the pocket of his pants. He looked at the screen then hit decline and returned his phone to his pocket.

"Sorry about that," Moriarty said.

"It's fine. Clearly you're a very busy man. Receiving calls at nearly three in the morning," Melissa observed in a light tone.

"The Consulting Criminal never rests," he replied dramatically, before his tone turned serious. "Speaking of which, I really should be getting back to my flat. I'm expecting a client."

"A client...? At three in the morning?" Melissa asked suspiciously.

"What can I say?" Moriarty said, raising a hand defensively. Then he whispered with a wink, "I'm still Mr. Sex."

Melissa leaned back and rolled her eyes. It was _amazing _how arrogant he was.

"Maybe I'll see you around, Detective Hughes," he said, standing up. And with that, he walked slowly down the path and around the bend.

It was only after Moriarty had rounded the bend and Melissa had stood up herself that she came to realize she still had Moriarty's jacket around her shoulders.

* * *

By the time Melissa returned to her flat, it was after 3:30. She pulled out her phone and quickly typed: "_You forgot your jacket._" and sent it to Moriarty.

With a man as calculating as Moriarty, he surely didn't leave it with her by accident. But why did he leave it then?

She reached into his outer pockets but came up empty-handed. Then she reached into the inner pocket to find a white business card. She must've pulled it out the wrong way though as the side she saw was completely blank. But she was dismayed to find the other side blank as well when she flipped it over. She held the card up to the light, but nothing changed. It was just blank.

_Beep._

The screen on Melissa's phone lit up, signifying a text. Without really thinking, she slipped the business card into her own jacket pocket. Then she opened it to find that Moriarty had written back: "_Well I'll just have to pick it up next time I see you. x JM_"

Next time?

Melissa had a feeling that she was playing with fire by associating herself with him. She thought for a moment before deciding on: "_Oh, I can't wait_."

A split second later, she received a response that said: "_I hope that wasn't sarcasm, love. x JM_"

She wasn't entirely sure, but she didn't think it was.

* * *

**A/N: I know that's not the part of _Stayin' Alive _that Jim has as his ringtone in _A Scandal In Belgravia_, but I thought it fit the circumstances better.**

**Thanks for reading, guys. :)**


	10. Working With Sherlock Holmes

**KlausCarolineLover and AsgardianTank59: Thank you! :D**

**Push To Shove: My ringtone is Stayin' Alive too! NO SHAME HERE EITHER. haha :)  
**

**Anyway, onward!**

**Chapter Ten: Working With Sherlock Holmes**

* * *

The next morning, Melissa looked at herself in the mirror. She hadn't slept since she had returned from her walk the night before.

She got in her car and drove to Scotland Yard, pausing briefly at a local coffee shop to pick up a cappuccino. As she pulled into the parking lot, she was surprised to see Lestrade swiftly approaching her car.

She rolled down her window and peered at Lestrade through her heavily tinted sunglasses.

"We're going to 221B Baker Street," Lestrade said.

"We are?" Melissa replied, confused. But she unlocked her doors and Lestrade climbed in.

They didn't say much all the way to Baker Street, besides Lestrade's directions on where she should turn. But what else was there to say? Lestrade had pushed her aside until this very morning.

Melissa parallel parked in front of 221B. They both got out of the car and Lestrade knocked on the door. An elderly woman answered and said, "Sherlock's been waiting for you."

She then turned towards Melissa and added, "You must be Miss Hughes. I'm Mrs. Hudson, Sherlock's land lady."

"How do you do, Mrs. Hudson?" Melissa replied, following Lestrade as he marched upstairs.

Melissa and Lestrade entered Sherlock's apartment to find John sitting on an armchair, reading the newspaper and Sherlock sprawled upon the couch, muttering to himself.

"Ah, Lestrade, there you are," Sherlock groaned as he glanced at the two standing in his doorway. "And you've brought Melissa. How…lovely."

"Sherlock, we need her. You already agreed that she needs to be the one to do it," John said, clearly annoyed with him.

"And what exactly do you need me for?" Melissa asked, already annoyed by Sherlock's insolent behavior and by the fact that she had been ignored for months. "You seem to have been doing fine without me for the past few months."

"We need to talk to a young girl whose father has gone missing," Lestrade began.

"And Sherlock has never been one for regarding feelings," John finished.

Sherlock started to say something but John glared at him for a moment, and Sherlock let it drop.

"Will you do it?" Lestrade finally asked.

Melissa didn't respond at first. They had tossed her aside for months and now they wanted her? No. They needed her.

"Sure."

* * *

Melissa had been expecting a very young girl. But when they arrived at the Evans' home, she was surprised to find herself face to face with a beautiful blond seventeen year old and a twenty-something bleach blond stepmother with enormous (and very obviously fake) boobs.

As Sherlock and Lestrade began to interrogate the stepmother in the dining room, Melissa and John sat with the young woman in the drawing room.

"I'm Detective Melissa Hughes, and this is, Dr. John Watson," Melissa explained to the girl.

"Hello," she replied. "I'm Gaby." She looked sad, Melissa observed.

"Can you tell me what happened, exactly?" Melissa continued.

"Well, two nights ago, the three of us ate dinner together like any other night. We had actually just gotten back from a vacation in Scotland that afternoon. I said goodnight to my dad and went up to bed. My stepmother and my dad went to sleep around the same time," Gaby recounted. Her eyes began to well up. "At about two in the morning, I heard a noise downstairs, but I thought that maybe my dad had gone down for a cup of tea. Sometimes, when he can't sleep, he goes down and makes himself a cuppa to relax."

She broke off for a moment and Melissa placed her hand briefly on Gaby's. John looked on, admiring Melissa's compassion. He was glad they had decided to bring Melissa along. This girl clearly needed the notion that Melissa cared, something John was certain Sherlock would not have shown.

After a moment, she continued. "But then I heard a crash, which scared me. I got up and started towards the stairs. I had to pass my dad's room on the way down and my stepmother was still fast asleep. She takes sleeping pills so it's impossible to wake her up. I didn't see anything from the top of the stairs, so I crept down to see what was going on."

Tears began slowly falling from Gaby's eyes.

"Take your time," Melissa said softly.

Gaby took a deep breath. "A man was dragging my dad out the front door. My dad was tied up and he wasn't moving. I gasped when I saw them and the man turned towards me. But then he smiled and kept walking out. I called the police but the man was long gone."

"This man…what did he look like?" Melissa inquired.

"He was tall. Probably more than six feet. I think he was in his early thirties. He had blond hair and blue eyes. He might've been handsome if he weren't kidnapping my dad," Gaby answered and began sobbing.

Melissa moved to sit next to Gaby, put an arm around her, and allowed her to cry upon Melissa's shoulder. She rubbed Gaby's arm, trying to calm her down.

"We'll find him," Melissa said quietly. "We'll find him."

* * *

Melissa found herself sitting at St. Bart's, looking through a microscope at a piece of short blond hair found at the crime scene. Sherlock sat across the table from her, examining another piece of evidence from the Evans home.

John and Lestrade were standing together a few feet away from them, just watching.

The door opened and Melissa looked up to see a young woman with reddish blond hair entering the room. When she spotted Sherlock, her face lit up with an enormous smile.

"Hello, Sherlock," she said, trying to sound flirtatious.

"There you are, Molly," Sherlock replied, glancing up from the microscope. "Coffee, black, two sugars."

Melissa glanced at Molly, who didn't seem fazed by Sherlock barking orders at her. She glanced at John, whose face clearly said that she shouldn't ask.

"Hello," Molly said, looking at Melissa. "I'm Molly Hooper, medical examiner."

"Detective Melissa Hughes," Melissa responded. "Nice to meet you."

"Nice to meet you to," Molly answered, smiling again. "Would you like some coffee?"

"Oh, no thank you," Melissa said, motioning towards her half-empty coffee cup which sat next to her.

"Dr. Watson, Inspector, would you like anything?"

They both murmured that they didn't and Molly left the room.

"That's Molly?" Melissa said with a smile after a moment.

Sherlock glanced up from the microscope and nodded. "That's Molly."

"She's clearly got a crush on you," she teased, laughing. Sherlock looked back down at his microscope and pretended not to hear her. "Well, I think she's lovely."

"Maybe you should date her then," Sherlock retorted nastily without looking up.

Lestrade and John looked on with amused looks on their faces. Melissa let them smirk for another moment before she retorted with: "I'd much prefer a man. Thanks for your consideration, though."

John and Lestrade could just barely stifle their laughter at Sherlock and Melissa bickering like two very young children.

At that moment, Molly reentered the room. She handed Sherlock his cup of coffee and he promptly drank half of it, right after he said, "Thank you, Molly."

Molly watched him drink as if it were the most incredible thing she had ever witnessed. Melissa stifled a laugh and looked back at the microscope.

Sherlock asked John to shut the light off as he was examining something under a black light.

_Beep._

Melissa pulled her phone from her pocket to see that she had a text message which read: "_Dinner tonight? x JM_"

She glanced up, but she no one was looking at her.

"_Where?_"

A moment later, she received a response: "_Mint Leaf. 8 pm. x"_

As Melissa was about to respond, she received another message. "_Dress formally. x_"

"_See you then_." she responded.

"_Oh, I can't wait. x" _Moriarty replied, mocking her.

"_Now who's being sarcastic?_" Melissa shot back.

"_Well certainly not me, love. I sincerely cannot wait to see you. ;) xxx"_

Melissa highly doubted that "sincere" was even a feeling that the Consulting Criminal was able to feel. She didn't respond, as she didn't want to attract any unwanted attention from Sherlock, John, or Lestrade.

As she placed her phone back in the pocket of her jacket, she noticed that a business card sat on the counter next to her jacket. She must've accidentally pulled it out with her phone. She picked it up and saw that it said, "_I'm watching you_" with an illustration of two enormous eyes. It was clearly written in ink that could only be viewed under black light.

Thoroughly confused, Melissa slid the card back into her pocket. She hadn't realized that she had taken the card with her.

She then changed the slides she had been given, only to find that she was looking at a piece of fabric. Apparently Gaby's father hadn't gone done without a fight.

As she looked at the piece of black fabric, she was suddenly reminded of a murder that she had investigated right after she had taken the job. The MOR murder.

"Can you get your hands on the piece of fabric that I found at the MOR murder scene?" Melissa asked, looking at Lestrade.

"It'd be in evidence," Lestrade responded, taking his phone out, presumably to call Scotland Yard.

Half an hour later, Melissa was comparing the two pieces of black fabric.

"They're a perfect match," she observed. "Which means that we need to act quickly. We know that the kidnapper has killed before."

She looked up to see Sherlock, John, and Lestrade staring at her. Lestrade and John nodded in agreement, but Sherlock just looked puzzled.

"But where do we start?" Sherlock asked to no one in particular.

"I don't know," Melissa replied quietly.

Sherlock was just beginning to tell how he and John would return to the Evans' home to search for more clues, but Melissa was no longer listening.

* * *

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	11. Dinner With James

**Sorry for the long wait. I've been working on this chapter for a really long time and it has never felt quite right. I didn't want to make you guys wait any longer though, so I'm updating.**

**Thank you all for the lovely reviews!**

**disneyylandacidtrip: thank you for all your reviews! :)  
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**KlausCarolineLover: you're in luck because Moriarty is finally back!  
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**RoseOfLannister, Allie, The GoldenHairedMockingjay,  e, tiarna13, and Alex: thanks to all of you for encouraging me to write more and update soon. I apologize for the wait, but here's the next chapter!**

**Chapter Eleven: Dinner With James**

* * *

Melissa pulled up in front of the Mint Leaf at 7:57 that night, taking in the lavish exterior of the building. The roof was lined with twinkling Christmas lights. The windows gave way to a dimly lit, yet beautiful room.

She stepped out of her car, her Louboutins clicking against the sidewalk as she approached the entrance.

Once inside, she found herself amongst a swarm of people. How was she to find Moriarty now?

But just as she began to wonder what to do next, Moriarty approached her, a small smile playing at his lips.

"Hello," Melissa said quietly.

"Hi," Moriarty replied, equally as quiet. He took in her appearance. She had swept her curls up in some sort of pretty updo, leaving only a few curls almost touching her shoulders. He fought the impulse to pull on one to see how many times it would bounce. Her makeup was understated, yet beautiful as usual.

She had on a midnight blue sleeveless dress that fell to just above her knee and hugged her every curve. Over it, she wore a dark colored fur shrug. Sparkling diamond earrings dangled from her ear. Around her neck, a small diamond heart hung on a thin silver chain. Moriarty, clad in a fitted black Westwood suit, thought they looked much better than anybody else here.

He looped his arm through hers, leading through the crowd of people still waiting to be seated. He steered her toward a booth that was in the very corner of the restaurant.

They both sat, Melissa with her back towards the rest of the diners and Moriarty facing her. He had chosen this booth because it provided the most privacy from the rest of the room.

"So where's my jacket?" Moriarty teased.

"In my car," Melissa told him.

Moriarty smiled. "Thank you."

The candlelight flickered across Moriarty's face, but oddly enough he had on a soft expression. Nothing like the one he had been wearing the first time they'd met.

The waitress came to get their drink orders and he ordered a bottle of wine. Opening the menu, Melissa noted that it was the most expensive one. As she pretended to decide what to eat, Melissa observed Moriarty over her menu.

He was reading his own menu, with a slight frown upon his face as though he were having a hard time choosing. Melissa smiled. The consulting criminal almost looked adorable at the moment, but he would probably kill anyone who actually vocalized it.

Moriarty could feel Melissa staring at him, so he smiled slightly and looked up at her. She returned her gaze to her menu, pretending that she hadn't been staring.

He always liked a game, not matter how small, so he played along. He continued to gaze at her until she began to smile, feeling his stare. She looked up at him and he in turn looked back at his menu. They alternately took turns surveying the other in this fashion until the waitress had returned with the bottle of wine and taken their dinner orders. Without the cover of a menu, Melissa and Moriarty could no longer hide their gazes.

"So, – " Melissa began, but broke off, not knowing what to call him.

"James, if it's personal," he offered, pouring wine in both glasses. "Jim, if I'm working."

"James," she said hesitantly, before continuing, "What exactly are we doing here?"

"Having dinner," he replied with a small smile, putting the bottle back down.

Melissa hesitated for a moment. "…Why?"

James shrugged then looked Melissa directly in the eye. With almost a haunting tone, he said, "You can leave anytime you want to. I just hoped that maybe you'd find me as intriguing as I find you."

"I do," Melissa responded softly, taking a sip of wine.

"So, tell me about yourself," James said, grabbing a piece of bread that their waitress had just placed on the table.

"Alright. Well, I'm from Bradford originally. I had an…interesting childhood to say the least," Melissa explained, reaching for a piece of warm bread herself. As she began to butter it, she continued, "My dad died when I was sixteen. You could say that my mother subsequently went crazy, but she'd already lost it long before my father's death. As soon as I finished high school, I found myself an apartment in London. I attended Oxford for fours years and studied forensics and investigative work. Then I began looking for a job, but I wasn't really successful for some time. I began doing some private investigating only because I couldn't find any other work. Then the Detective Commissioner of Scotland Yard got in touch with me and offered me a job. Apparently he had heard of my talent through the news and thought that Scotland Yard needed brains like mine. And here I am."

She had told him a very, very small portion of her life. There was no way she would reveal anything else that he could use against.

"You're not going to give me an in depth version of your time at Oxford?" James inquired, raising an eyebrow.

"No," Melissa replied, not wanting to divulge any information regarding the night he had already successfully rehashed.

"I'm not going to tell anyone, by the way," he informed her, leaning in slightly. "No one else has to know. It'll be our little secret." He whispered the last part and added a conspiratorial wink.

Melissa, who had been holding her piece of bread, dropped it on her plate and pushed it away from her.

"Stop tormenting me! You think that keeping this secret isn't _hard _for me?" Melissa grabbed her purse and her jacket and stood up. She turned and headed for the exit.

"Wait." It was said quietly, but sincerely. Melissa turned to see James on his feet, a broken expression upon his face. "I'm sorry."

Melissa turned towards the exit once more but she couldn't bring herself to take another step. She knew that he was a sociopath, acting the way he felt people wanted him to, but he was still putting on a damn good act.

"Please," James pleaded with her. "Melissa."

She highly doubted he had ever pleaded with anyone in his life and was sure that he wouldn't be now if he didn't have a good reason for wanting her to stay.

Melissa felt as though she were making a huge mistake, but she returned to their table anyway. Her curiosity had gotten the better of her.

"Why am I really here?" Melissa demanded.

"I told you, I just want to have dinner with you," James said, frowning slightly. He poured himself some more wine as he had finished his glassful already.

Melissa averted her gaze so that she was looking anywhere but at James.

"How about I tell you about myself?" James offered. Melissa just shrugged.

"I grew up near Dublin. I had always been criminally inclined and was a troublemaker before the age of five. But by the time I reached the age of eight, I learned how to get away with everything. I was able to cast blame upon others and nobody suspected quiet, sweet little James. I eventually moved to London because it offered more…business opportunities. I built up an empire around myself, an empire that would be virtually impossible to topple. Sherlock's description of me is the best one I've heard: 'James Moriarty isn't a man at all. He's a spider. A spider at the center of a web. A criminal web with a thousand threads and he knows how each and every single one of them dances.' I do _love _to make people dance."

"You are absolutely insane," Melissa responded, still angry with him.

"Of course, darling," James replied, taking another swig of wine. She began seriously reconsidering her choice to stay.

"But you wouldn't be here if I didn't interest you," James continued, seeming to read her mind. "I'm not sure how I interest you just yet, though. See, I would call this a date, except I don't go on dates. And neither do you."

Melissa took a long sip of wine, draining her glass. She then poured herself another, unsure how to respond to that.

"You're taking a risk, just being here. You could be seen with me, the criminal mastermind," James said. "But you like the danger."

"And what if I do," Melissa responded.

"Then we're more alike than you might think," James whispered.

Melissa gulped down the rest of her drink so she wouldn't have to respond, and started to pour herself a third.

"You should probably ease up on the drinking," James said, grabbing her hand as she almost spilled the bottle. He eased the bottle back on the table, hand still on top of hers. "Wouldn't want you to get too drunk."

"I rather thought that was the point," she replied. James raised his eyebrows. "Getting me drunk, then doing whatever the hell you want to me. Seems like your style." He just smirked, but his hand remained on top of hers. His eyes bore into her own.

After a few seconds, Melissa added, "But you're right. I shouldn't let my guard down." He hesitated a moment, then pulled his hand away. Melissa, in turn, removed her hand from the bottle.

The waitress brought their food at that moment.

As James took his first bite, Melissa said, "I'm not going to ask for your help against Sherlock, you know."

"You don't think that I'll just give it?" James replied.

"You don't seem the type to do anything without a price," she answered. "Anyway, I've got it under control now."

James just nodded.

"James." He looked up. "Promise me that you won't try to help."

He smiled and said, "I promise."

She knew he wasn't taking this seriously, but she let it drop anyway. They finished their dinner fairly quietly. James paid the bill then stood. He helped Melissa up, taking her arm and crossing the restaurant.

As they approached the exit, they had to weave through an even larger crowd than before. This made it impossible to walk next to each other, so James let Melissa walk ahead of him, placing his hand on the small of her back so he wouldn't lose her in the crowd.

Once outside, he moved his arm so that he was holding her by the waist. Since she didn't object, James pulled her ever so slightly closer to him.

They crossed the street to her car and she opened the driver's side door. James regretfully let go of her as she reached for his Westwood jacket that sat upon the backseat.

Melissa turned and handed it to him.

"Thank you," James said, folding the jacket over his arm.

"Your welcome," Melissa responded. "And thank you…for dinner."

"My pleasure," he replied, reaching for her hand, bringing it to his lips, and placing a light kiss upon it. He let her hand drop from his lips but he kept his own hand firmly clasped in hers.

"See you around, James," Melissa said, pulling her hand away and climbing into her car. As her silver Mercedes pulled away, James stuffed his hands in his pockets.

It was quite a shame to see her go.

* * *

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	12. Almost Caught

**Hey guys! Thanks so much for the lovely reviews!**

**Thanks to TheGoldenHairedMockingjay, tiarna13, and Alex for inspiring me to post this chapter as soon as I could!**

**Chapter Twelve: Almost Caught**

* * *

The next morning, Melissa received an urgent phone call from Lestrade. A young woman had been found murdered and he had said that he needed her.

When she arrived at the crime scene, she was surprised to see that the crime scene resembled that of one nearly six months prior.

Just like the previous dead woman, she was shot once in the head. And again, the letters "MOR" were written but if there were any more letters, they were cut off by the pool of blood. But unlike the other body, this one was lacking the piece of cloth between her fingers.

Melissa grabbed a pair of rubber gloves and pulled them on. She picked up the victim's right hand, but none of the fingers had blood on them. She then checked the victim's left hand, where the pointer finger had a red stain, indicating that it had been used for the letters.

Melissa sighed. She needed more clues, but just like the other body, this one was conveniently lacking in conclusive evidence.

Sherlock was already there, standing near Lestrade a few feet from where Melissa examined the body.

"Looks like our dear friend, the murderer, is on the move," Melissa announced to them. Lestrade sighed.

"How nice of him to leave a signature," Sherlock said.

Melissa stood up. "Also nice of him to leave no other clues whatsoever."

He nodded once in agreement. "He has been very thorough, hasn't he?"

"Oh yeah," she replied.

"Moriarty?" Sherlock asked, turning to Melissa.

"I don't know. I doubt he'd be this obvious about it. Then again, you do know him better than I do," she responded.

"He doesn't normally like getting his hands dirty."

Melissa nodded. "And why would he blow his cover.? 'Rich Brook' has been suiting him just fine. Making you out to be the villain."

"But if not Moriarty, then who?" Sherlock pondered.

* * *

After work that day, Melissa sat at a local café pouring over her notes. She had photographs spread out upon the table of the two MOR murders and was looking for something, anything that she had missed.

She was broken from her train of thought as a coffee cup was set on her table. She looked up to see James sit down across the table from her, now setting his own cup in front of himself.

"Hello," Melissa greeted him.

"Hi," he replied with a small smile.

"You bought me coffee?"

"Well, you were sitting in a coffee shop without a cup of coffee," James said.

"I guess I was," Melissa responded. She moved to collect the photos when James' hand stopped hers. He stared at the photos, eyes widening slightly. Melissa watched his reaction as he picked the photographs up to see them better.

"How lovely," he finally said, placing the photos back on the table.

"So I'm assuming this isn't you," Melissa said, still watching his face.

"No," James replied. "I wouldn't be so obvious. Obvious is boring."

"Well we couldn't have that then, could we?"

"Absolutely not," he said, with a small smile.

"What are you doing here?" Melissa asked.

"I like watching you work," James said, still smiling.

She averted her gaze slightly. What was Moriarty trying to do?

"If you don't want to talk, I'll just wait until you're finished," he said, leaning back.

"Fine."

Melissa reorganized the photos, still pouring over them. What seemed like seconds later, she was startled by another voice saying: "Hey, Melissa."

She looked up to find the chair across from her empty and John Watson standing near her table.

"Hello, John," Melissa said, nervously. She glanced around to find that James had completely disappeared.

"Waiting for someone?" John asked as he came closer to her table.

"What?"

"You have two cups of coffee. I figured you were waiting for someone," John said, pointing at James' coffee cup.

"Oh, no. That's my backup coffee. I know I'll be here a while, so…" Melissa trailed off. _Smooth, James. Leaving your coffee cup behind._

John slowly nodded, giving her a strange look. "See you around," he finally said.

"Bye."

* * *

When Melissa looked up from the photos and notes again, she was surprised to see that it was dark outside. She glanced at a clock across the room, which read 9:34. Collecting up everything she had spread around her, she walked towards the door and into the night.

She had parked down the block as all the parking spots near the café had been full when she had arrived. Now, though, all the spots that had been previously taken were empty. Melissa walked under a streetlight that was flickering, and she glanced around. A few cars drove by, but there was no one on foot.

She approached a park bench, where someone sat reading a newspaper. As she grew closer, she recognized James' profile.

"Are you following me?" she asked suspiciously, stopping in front of him and lowering the newspaper.

"Don't know what you're talking about, love," James replied smoothly and raised the newspaper to his eye level once more. She rolled her eyes and kept walking.

She was only a few feet from it when James appeared next to her, matching her pace. He had left the newspaper on the bench, because he hadn't really been reading it anyway.

"How about a drink?" he asked, his tone nothing but innocent.

"Why would I get a drink with someone who's following me?" Melissa responded, unlocking her car.

"Suit yourself," James said, shrugging. Melissa stopped at her car, and he continued down the street.

Melissa watched him walk for a few moments before opening her car door and throwing her papers on the back seat.

"Damn it," she muttered under her breath as she slammed the car door, locked it, and ran to catch up to James' lazy pace not that far ahead of her.

He could hear her heels clicking on the sidewalk as she followed him, just like he knew she would. She caught up to him just as he began to cross the street towards a small club.

James opened the door for her and motioned his hand as if to say "after you", keeping up the perfect gentleman act.

Five minutes later, Melissa found herself sitting at a small table with James, sipping some sort of fancy drink, and watching people dance. The music changed from some dubstep song she didn't recognize to "Glad You Came" by The Wanted. She smiled; she loved this song.

A second later, James grabbed her hand and was pulling her towards the dancefloor. She found herself in the middle of people dancing and jumping around crazily. James was dancing as well, and he looked absolutely ridiculous.

Melissa began to laugh and he grabbed her by the waist, pulling her closer to him.

"You better not be laughing at me," James said in her ear, his voice sounding just the slightest bit dangerous.

"I'm not," Melissa replied very unconvincingly, still laughing.

_Turn the lights out now. Now I'll take you by the hand. Hand you another drink. Drink it if you can._

Melissa sang along as James spun her around so that her back was facing him. He pulled her hips close to his and they danced to the music. Melissa was pretty sure she could feel his phone (or something else) in the pocket of his pants.

The song changed to "Turn Up The Music" by Chris Brown and the entire crowd started to sing along. James laced his fingers with Melissa's and raised her hands up in the air in anticipation of the next line.

_If you're sexy and you know it, put your hands up in the air. Put your hands up in the air. Put your hands up. And turn up the music!_

Melissa laughed and James' hands made their way back to her hips.

_Turn up the music, just turn it up louder._

When she suddenly felt James' hands leave her hips, she almost turned around to see where he went. Instead, she locked eyes with Lestrade, who was making his way onto the dancefloor right in front of her with a woman she didn't recognize. Lestrade waved at her and Melissa quickly raised a hand in response before turning and swiftly walking away.

What the hell was she thinking?

She could've been seen with Moriarty. By her boss. Who would immediately tell Sherlock if he had seen her dancing with Moriarty.

John had almost caught them together as well. What was she doing?

Melissa quickly left the club and returned to her car, driving home as fast as possible.

There was one thing she was absolutely certain of: Moriarty was quite good at disappearing at a moment's notice.

* * *

The next morning, Melissa surrounded herself with paperwork at her desk. Although she was trying to completely focus on her work, it was proving to be rather challenging to clear her mind of thoughts regarding Moriarty. She couldn't shake her feelings regarding him holding her close the previous night.

_Snap out of it_, she told herself. _Forget him._

She looked up as a young police officer she didn't recognize approached her desk.

"These were left downstairs for you," he told her, handing her a bouquet of red roses in a white vase with intricate gold designs upon it.

"Thank you," Melissa sad to him and he walked away.

She turned the vase around and saw that there was a lavender note sticking out of the top of the roses. Placing the vase on her desk, she picked up the note, which read "Detective Melissa Hughes" in beautiful script. She flipped it over to see a heart drawn on the other side in black ink alongside the initials "JM"; the entire thing was covered in lavender glitter.

"'If you enjoy the fragrance of a rose, you must accept the thorns which it bears,'" Sherlock's quoted, startling Melissa. She quickly dropped the card into an open drawer in her desk so that Sherlock wouldn't be able to get a closer look at it.

"Can I help you?" Melissa asked, as Sherlock approached her desk, plucking a rose out of the vase, and examining it before placing it back where it had been.

"Someone spent a great deal of time picking these roses," Sherlock began. "Each one is as close to perfect as roses can be."

Melissa stared at Sherlock, unsure how to respond to his observation.

"There are 13 roses, which is very unusual. Generally they're sold by the dozen. Therefore whoever sent them must have some sort of special attachment to the number 13," he continued. "Also, they color of the roses, deep red, suggests that he likes you very much. I'd say that either he already is your boyfriend or he hopes that he will be soon."

"As a matter of fact, my favorite number happens to be 13," Melissa replied. "And he's not my boyfriend. I don't intend to see him any longer."

John walked up to her desk just then.

"See who?" John asked.

"No one," Melissa replied, trying to steer the conversation away from the roses, but more importantly away from the sender. "So why are you here?"

"Just wondering if you've made any progress the case," Sherlock answered.

"I thought that you'd have solved it by now," she said sarcastically.

"As a matter of fact, I haven't. But I was under the impression that you and I were working on this case together," he responded.

"Well I was under the impression that you didn't want to work with me. Like…ever," she told him.

"I figured that combining your intellect with mine, we might be able to solve this case…" Sherlock said, glancing at John. John nodded, and Sherlock added begrudgingly, "…Together."

Melissa was a little shocked by this. Granted, John's encouragement seemed to be the only reason he was willing to work with her, but either way Melissa had dreamed of being able to one day work with the great Sherlock Holmes. Although she knew that he seemed to highly dislike her, she still hoped to work with him. Not that she would ever admit that to him.

"Well unfortunately I'm just as stumped as you are," Melissa replied.

"221 B Baker Street. 8 pm. We'll look over the pictures together," Sherlock said incredibly fast, then swept off towards the exit.

"Sorry about him," John told her. "He does that."

Melissa smiled. "So I've heard."

"See you later," he responded and followed Sherlock.

Had Sherlock Holmes just admitted that he needed help from someone else? Melissa smiled a little at the thought that the great detective might not be as great as he was made out to be.

Her phone vibrated and she picked it up to see that she had a text.

"_Dinner tonight? x JM_"

"_Can't._" was all Melissa said in response. She didn't even feel bad about saying no to him. Which might be a mistake she would later regret.

_Now what do I do with these roses?_

* * *

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	13. MORON

**Chapter Thirteen: MORON**

* * *

Melissa walked across the semi-dark parking lot to her car. As she began to open her car door, a hand appeared on the top of the door, pushing it shut again.

"What do you mean, _can't_."

Melissa sighed and shut her eyes for a moment. She composed herself for a few seconds before saying, "I mean exactly what I said: I can't."

"Other plans?" Moriarty said, his hand still on her car door.

"As a matter of fact, yes," she replied. He didn't say anything, which prompted her to add, "I have to solve this case."

"Well we could solve it together," he said, taking a step closer to her and moving his free hand up and down her arm.

"I'm pretty sure Sherlock wouldn't be very happy if I stood him up," Melissa answered.

His hand stopped. "You're working with Sherlock Holmes now?"

"Looks that way."

"Can I see you after you're done working?" he asked softly.

"James," she began quietly, but couldn't bring herself to continue.

"What?" he prompted softly.

She took a deep breath, before quietly continuing, "I don't want to see you anymore…It's far too dangerous."

Moriarty's hand dropped from her arm.

"I'm sorry…I just can't be seen with you."

He stayed silent, his face didn't change.

After a moment, he took a step away from her.

"Right. Good luck with the case, Detective Hughes," he finally said softly. He just looked at her, before turning and disappearing into the darkness.

Melissa shut her eyes again and a single tear ran down her cheek. She liked him. But she just couldn't risk seeing him.

* * *

"How did the break-up go?" Sherlock said as soon as Melissa walked into his flat.

"I'm sorry?"

"Well it must've gone pretty well. You only shed one tear. But was it just for show or were you actually upset?" Sherlock replied.

"Well 'hello' to you too," Melissa said, ignoring him.

"Wait, how did you know, Sherlock?" John asked. Melissa looked at Sherlock, curious how he had known.

"Look at her makeup." John looked at Melissa, trying to see what Sherlock was seeing. "There is one spot of eyeliner on her left eye that is smudged downward. You can tell by the way it looks that she didn't accidentally smudge it, but that water caused the displacement. Also, the eyelashes in that spot are stuck together. Eyelashes stick together when they get wet. There isn't a trail of makeup down her cheek though, which means that she's wiped it away. Therefore, she shed just one tear," Sherlock explained. "She was careless enough to not touch up her eyeliner when she was through though."

Melissa turned her back, placing the folder of pictures on the coffee table. "If you're done, we do have an actual case to solve here."

She spread the pictures out upon the table before taking a seat.

"I've been over the pictures a thousand time," she said.

Sherlock poured over the pictures, looking for anything she might've missed.

After a few minutes of silence, John began to talk.

"Well, we have a murderer," he began. Sherlock gave him a weird look.

"Yeah, I think we'd gotten that bit," Melissa replied.

"And he has a gun," John continued.

"You're not helping," Sherlock said.

"No, wait. Both victims were shot with the same type of gun. That's significant," Melissa pointed out.

"But it doesn't get us any closer to figuring out who did it," Sherlock countered.

"What about the letters: MOR?" Melissa asked.

Sherlock thought for a moment before shrugging. "I don't know."

Suddenly Melissa's phone began to ring.

"Melissa, I need to get down here now," Lestrade said on the other end of the phone, sounding stressed.

"Sure. What is it?" she replied.

"Another murder," he answered. "I'm about to call Sherlock."

"I'm with him, actually."

"Good. Here's the address…" he said.

* * *

Melissa pulled up to the address Lestrade had given her. As she got out of her car, a cab pulled up next to her. Sherlock and John climbed out of it. Sherlock had vowed never to ride in a police car, even though Melissa had been driving her own car.

The flashing lights atop the police cars lit up the dark night.

As they walked towards the caution tape, Melissa wondered what she should prepare herself to see. Lestrade hadn't given her many details over the phone.

Sherlock lifted the caution tape and gestured for her to walk under. She led them through the open door of the flat.

"Detective Hughes," an officer addressed her. "D.I. Lestrade is upstairs, third floor."

"Thank you," she replied before starting up the stairs.

Lestrade stood in the doorway of one of the rooms.

He moved aside so Melissa, Sherlock, and John could enter the room. There lay Gaby's father, shot once in the head.

"Oh my god," Melissa said softly. "I promised we'd find him. I promised her everything would be okay."

Lestrade placed a hand on her arm briefly, before he left the room. Melissa walked closer, only to find what she'd feared. Except the message was slightly different this time.

Instead of just MOR, the letters seemed to spell MORON.

"Moron," Melissa and Sherlock said simultaneously.

"What the hell does that mean?" John asked.

Neither responded, however Sherlock lifted one of the dead man's hands to see that his pointer finger had been used to write the message.

Melissa walked towards the window that was directly in line with the dead man. There was a small bullet hole in the window, indicating that the person had shot the man from across the street. The police lights reflected on the window that Melissa believed the murderer had been at. Suddenly, however, Melissa noticed that there was a figure at the window that was illuminated only when the lights happened to fall upon the window. There stood a tall blond man, wearing black clothes. He held a rifle at his side and when he knew Melissa had seen him, his mouth turned up into a slight smirk. It was the man Gaby had said kidnapped her father. Melissa took this all in in a matter of seconds.

She had time only to utter an "Oh my god," before she ran across the room. Sherlock and John turned as she shot out the door and began to descend the stairs.

"What?!" Sherlock called after her.

"He's still here!" she shouted back. She drew her gun so that she'd be ready to face the murderer.

Sherlock and John ran after her.

As she got to the door, she almost ran directly into Lestrade.

"He's still here and he's armed," she told him. She ran across the street, now followed by Sherlock, John, Lestrade, and a bunch of other officers that Lestrade had ordered to follow them.

She told a few officers to take the back entrance, if there was one. She tried the door handle, which was surprisingly unlocked. She ran directly to the stairs, taking them two at a time. She burst into the room that the man had been in only minutes before only to find an empty room. She did a full scan of the room, her gun aimed ahead of her.

"He's not here!" she called.

Sherlock and John had just ran up behind her and turned to check the other rooms on the floor. Melissa was about to join them when the police lights on the window caught her attention. She crossed the room to see that the man had left a message on the window. He had breathed on the window and written 'HAHA' upon it. It was quickly disappearing but it was still fresh enough to show that he had been there not long ago.

"Can someone help me up here?" Melissa called. She quickly snapped a picture on her phone.

A few seconds later, two male police officers came into the room and she left them to it.

"See if you can recover any fingerprints, strands of hair, or any sort of DNA," she instructed them.

She met with Sherlock and John at the top of the stairs.

"No sign of him," Sherlock said.

They descended the stairs and encountered Lestrade.

"He's gone."

Melissa sighed in frustration. "He was just here."

* * *

"He was just like Gaby said," Melissa said, staring at the photos from all three MOR murders, which were plastered upon the wall at Scotland Yard. Sherlock, John, and Lestrade were sitting around a table behind Melissa. "Tall, blond, handsome. I couldn't see what color his eyes were because it was rather dark, but it was definitely the same man. He was wearing all black and he had a rifle at his side."

"Here's a sketch from Gaby's description," Lestrade said, standing up to hand Melissa the drawing.

"It's close, but not exactly how he looks," she replied, handing the picture back to him. Lestrade returned to his seat. Melissa continued, "So we know that this man has excellent aim. He's been trained well."

"He could be a hunter, but more than likely – ," Sherlock began.

"He's a hired assassin," Melissa finished for him, her back still to them. "But what's the connection between the three victims?"

"Nothing," Sherlock said to John and Lestrade. "We've checked into all of their backgrounds and none of them have anything in common with each other. Two young women and a middle-aged man. They don't live near each other, don't work together, more than likely wouldn't have come in contact with each other at any point in time. So why are they all dead?"

Melissa exhaled slowly. "And what about the letters? They look like they spell MORON this time."

"Is the victim the moron?" Sherlock asked.

"Or are we the morons?" she added softly. "He's clearly mocking us. He wrote 'HAHA' on the window for us to find."

"So we're obviously dealing with a psychopath," Sherlock said.

"There were no fingerprints found on the window. He was wearing gloves," Lestrade informed them all.

"We can't wait for him to make a mistake," John said. "We have to figure out how to catch him before he strikes again."

"Obviously," Melissa replied.

"If you come up with a solution, then by all means share it with us, John," Sherlock said.

Everyone remained silent, Melissa still staring at the photos.

"Melissa, you do know that someone needs to go to the Evans home to break the news. They've just brought the body to St. Barts," Lestrade told them.

Melissa closed her eyes briefly. "And you want me to do it?"

"I think the four of us should go," Lestrade replied.

There was another heavy silence in the room, but it was decided. They would all go to break the horrible news.

* * *

Melissa sat in the passenger seat of Lestrade's car, with a sketchpad and pencil in hand. She was trying to sketch the man's face in the dim interior lighting. Sherlock and John rode behind them in a cab. Melissa glanced at the clock; it was nearly 1:30 in the morning. Looking back at her sketch, she erased a stray line near his nose. She made his eyelashes slightly longer. She made the mouth slightly bigger and more sensual. There. He matched the man she was picturing in her mind.

All too soon, they were pulling into the Evans' driveway. The next few minutes seemed to be a blur.

Lestrade had rung the doorbell and Mrs. Evans had answered the door.

He had said, "We've found your husband."

For a split second, she had looked hopeful before Lestrade delivered the crushing news, "He's been murdered."

Mrs. Evans broke down in tears and Melissa found herself saying, "I'm sorry."

Behind Mrs. Evans, there was a sudden movement and Gaby appeared in the doorway too.

She looked at her mother and broke down into tears as well, knowing all too well what news they had brought.

"You promised me!" Gaby yelled through her tears at Melissa. "You promised me you'd find him!"

"I'm sorry," Melissa said. "I'm so sorry."

And Gaby and Mrs. Evans were holding each other, sobbing.

"I'm so sorry."

And Melissa found herself stumbling backwards, away from the four bearers of bad news. She turned and blindly walked away, tears of her own welling up. Suddenly she felt a hand grab hers and stop her from walking. And then she was enveloped in soft, warm arms.

"It's not your fault." The words were whispered. She softly began crying into his shoulder.

She was sad that she'd said goodbye to Moriarty. She was upset that Gaby's father had died. She was frustrated that the murderer had slipped through her clutches. She was heartbroken by the reactions of Gaby and her stepmother.

A hand stroked her hair, trying to calm her down.

"It's not your fault." The words were softly repeated.

"Thank you," she finally replied softly to Sherlock.

* * *

**Thanks for reading! I really appreciate reading your reviews! :)**


	14. The Past

**Okay, so I changed this chapter because I just came across a bunch of stuff that I wrote last year and I liked it a lot better than what I've just written. The next couple chapters didn't work with what I had planned, so I'm changing them.**

**Chapter Fourteen: The Past**

* * *

"_You promised me! You promised me you'd find him!" _

Melissa closed her eyes, trying to stop the words from repeating in her mind. She opened her eyes once again, and stared at the dark ceiling of her bedroom. She couldn't sleep. Sighing, she stood up and moved into the living room of her flat. She lit the wood in her fireplace. Then she grabbed a glass and some alcohol. Pouring herself a glassful, she sat back on her couch and tried to stop thinking.

Who could she call to talk to her?

She couldn't call Moriarty. She couldn't see him again. She couldn't call Sherlock. He had comforted her, but he'd surprised her. First of all, she didn't think he'd been capable of comforting anyone. She'd also thought he'd hated her. But more importantly, she'd been embarrassed that he'd seen her break down like that. She couldn't call John, either. She hadn't really spoken to him properly since Sherlock had some back. And Lestrade had driven her home and made sure that she'd been okay. She'd insisted that he leave, so he had.

She wished she could call her sister. But she hadn't spoken to her since she'd gone off to college and left her messed up family. In fact, she couldn't contact anyone in her family. She'd left them all and had never looked back. She'd also cut herself off from her childhood friends when she'd left. And then in turn, stopped speaking to her college friends when she'd arrived in London for work. She'd been dodging any sort of commitment all her life. What kind of person did that make her?

It probably started with her mother's condition. Melissa didn't want to turn out like her mother, losing her mind completely. Her mother had been so attached to her father; they'd loved each other since they were sixteen. But when her father began travelling for work when they were both in their early twenties, her mother had apparently begun to act strangely, constantly changing her mind and acting out unpredictably. So to keep her company when he'd be away, they'd decided to have a baby. Maybe that would make her happy, her father had said.

And it did, for a little while. She'd loved Melissa. Her bizarre actions seemed to lessen and she actually seemed happy for the first time in years. But when Melissa had been about three years old, her father had come home to find her mother stringing together words that made no sense, talking to herself, and sitting in a corner of the kitchen on the floor. When her father had tried to help her up, she'd freaked out and didn't recognize him. Melissa's childhood was riddled with her mother's bizarre antics. Her father stopped travelling to be with his family, and her mother's condition stabilized somewhat. When Melissa had turned ten, her mother had another baby. Melissa had been so annoyed. Why had her parents had another child now?

Her mother had begun to have hallucinations and delusions, and had to be kept away from the baby. Her unpredictability made her dangerous to be around.

As Stephanie and Melissa grew older, Melissa grew to love her younger sister. By fourteen, Melissa barely saw her mother as she spent most of her time in her room. Her father had taken on the role of raising two daughters himself and Melissa had grown close to him. By the next year, Melissa had researched her mother's symptoms and feared that she had schizophrenia. She'd begged her father to take her mother to the doctor, and the doctors had delivered the news: her mother did indeed have schizophrenia.

The news came just days before Melissa's sixteenth birthday. So, a then sixteen-year-old Melissa and her father had to raise a five-year-old little girl. They'd had so many great times together, just the three of them. A few weeks before her seventeenth birthday, Melissa was invited to a party. Her father had insisted that she go. She should be a normal teenager, forget about taking care of a younger sister for the night. So she'd gone.

It was something Melissa regretted to this very day.

The party had run late into the night. She'd called her dad for a ride home and he told he he'd be there soon. But after half an hour, he hadn't shown up yet. Her cell phone had rung and she'd been surprised to see that it was her mother calling. She'd answered the phone to find that her mother was crying.

"Melissa," she cried. "Your father's been in a really bad car accident. He's in the hospital."

Her aunt had picked her up a few minutes later and they met her mother and Stephanie at the hospital. A drunk driver had been driving on the wrong side of the road at a high speed. They'd had a head-on collision. Her father was in critical condition.

A doctor had come in and told them that one person would be able to go in and see him. They'd been able to stabilize him for the moment. Melissa had jumped to her feet and walked across the room. Her mother had also risen.

"You don't get to see him now," Melissa had turned and yelled angrily at her mother. "I do. I've spent the past five years raising Stephanie with him. And where the hell have you been?" And she'd followed the doctor to her father's room.

He'd been covered in bandages and casts. Melissa began to cry. She'd sat next to him and gently held his hand.

"I'm sorry, Daddy," she whispered through her tears. "I'm so sorry."

She'd only been given a few minutes with him and she'd moved to the hallway. She couldn't bring herself to go back to the waiting room with her family, so she's stayed in the general area of her father's room. So she saw the doctor's and nurses running in and out of his room, yelling things about how he was dying, And twenty minutes later, he'd died.

He'd died because he'd been on his way to pick Melissa up. She'd cried for days.

She had to celebrate her seventeenth birthday without the person she'd cared for the most.

The worst part was that her mother's condition declined. She'd take off for long periods of time without telling Melissa where she was going. And when she was home, she openly blamed Melissa for his death, even though she didn't always recognize her or remember how he had died. Melissa did her best to raise six-year-old Stephanie. But as soon as she was done with school, she'd moved out. She'd left everything behind.

Maybe she was afraid that commitment would leave her like her mother. As if commitment led to schizophrenia. She knew it didn't, but she was still afraid. Maybe she was also afraid because she knew that all lives ended in death.

She took another sip of alcohol to drown her lengthy list of sorrows. Gaby's reaction to her father's death had broken Melissa's heart.

Because she knew that's exactly how it felt to have her own father so cruelly taken from this world.

* * *

She woke up to the sound of knocking on her door. She slowly opened her eyes to find that she had fallen asleep on the couch, that the room was way too bright and that she had a pounding headache. She stood up and crossed the room to her foyer. Peering through the peephole, she saw that it was Sherlock.

She opened the door, sure that she probably looked awful.

Squinting her eyes, she looked at Sherlock.

"Are you alright?" Sherlock asked immediately.

"Do I look alright to you?" Melissa replied.

Rather than answering her question, he instead said, "Lestrade called me to make sure you were alright. You didn't answer any of your phone calls and you didn't show up to work."

"I didn't?" She hadn't realized it'd been so late.

"Melissa, it's after three o'clock," Sherlock informed her.

"Oh. Well I'm fine," she lied.

"There's no point in lying to me," he responded.

"Sherlock, I just really want to be alone right now," she said, even though the last thing she wanted was to be alone.

He didn't say anything for a moment. He just looked at her. "You shouldn't blame yourself."

For what? Her own father's death? Abandoning her family? Killing her ex-boyfriend? Leaving her friends behind? Liking Moriarty? Gaby's father's death? Not catching the murderer?

"But if you really want to be alone right now, I'll leave," he added.

She exhaled slowly, weighing her options. Finally she decided. "Tell Lestrade I'll be in tomorrow." That would give her enough time to pull herself together.

"Right. See you around, then," Sherlock said.

She nodded and closed the door.

* * *

"Absolutely not!" Melissa exclaimed the next day at Scotland Yard.

"But we need you to do this," Lestrade pleaded. "Who else can we get to pretend to be at Joe's Bar and Grill to pick up guys?"

"No," Melissa said again. There was some rapist who was running rampant and they'd just asked her to set him up.

"Please, Melissa. It's the only way we'll catch him," Lestrade begged her.

"You want me to pretend to be some helpless young woman? The perfect target for this guy?"

"We'll be right there the whole night," he said. "We just need you to bait him."

"Why don't you just walk in and arrest him?" she asked.

"Because he won't be expecting you to arrest him," Lestrade explained.

"How do we even know that he'll want to talk to me?" she asked, beginning to give in a little bit.

"It's a good thing John and I have already been to the bar. Apparently, he takes women home all the time," Sherlock said.

"And that's supposed to make me feel better about doing this?" Melissa asked.

"Now we know what he likes," John replied.

* * *

Three hours later, Melissa found herself inside Joe's Bar and Grill. She had straightened her long hair prior to going. She was also wearing a very revealing purple halter-top that was about two sizes too small. She thought her boobs looked ridiculous, but whatever. She had on black sequined short shorts and six-inch heels.

She thought this was being way too obvious, but Lestrade, John, and Sherlock had all agreed that the man would definitely go for her. She had to admit, though, that she didn't look anything like herself.

She sat at the bar, legs crossed, drinking some sort of fruity drink. And she waited.

The man who'd been sitting next to her stood up and left, leaving the bar stool open. A few seconds later, someone sat next to her.

"Why hello there, sexy," the man said in a smooth voice.

Melissa glanced over to see a man that matched the sketch Lestrade had shown her. She got goosebumps just from looking at him. He was really, really creepy. Not much taller than her, dark, greasy hair.

Here was her opportunity. She had originally planned to act ditzy, but she instead decided to mimic his personality.

"Hi there, big boy," she said, dropping her voice a little lower than normal. She was trying to be as seductive and flirtatious as possible.

"And what is a gorgeous lady like yourself called?" he asked, leaning in.

"Heather," she lied. "And you are?"

"Damian," he replied, holding his hand out. She took it and they shook hands.

He turned and ordered himself a drink and another for Melissa.

"So Heather. What are you doing here by yourself?" he asked, fishing for answers. Good, he wanted to make sure she was alone.

"Just having a drink. What about yourself?" she said, smiling.

"Same as you, just having a drink."

She turned to take another sip of her drink as he downed his entire glass. She felt his eyes checking her out, taking in her long legs.

"So, are you seeing anyone right now?" Damian asked, trying to get her attention back on him.

"No," she replied. "My line of work doesn't really allow for that kind of attachment."

"Your line of work?" he asked, curious.

"Mhmm," she replied with a smirk as she put her hand on his thigh. "My line of work."

Damian inhaled as she moved her hand slowly up his thigh.

"And what is…your line of work?" he asked her again, his voice now filled with lust instead of cockiness.

She leaned in to whisper in his ear, "I _love _to _entertain_."

Her hand was nearing its destination. As she touched him, he closed his eyes and let out a small laugh.

"I should've guessed," he said, eyes still closed.

Well. This was certainly not what she had planned to happen.

Opening his eyes, he placed a hand on her cheek and slowly kissed her. He pulled away, grabbed her hand in his, and stood up. He pulled her with him to a dim hallway that seemed to lead to the bathrooms.

_Lestrade, where are you?_

Damian began to kiss her again, but then his lips moved to her neck. He pushed her up against the wall and pressed his body against hers. She played along, wrapping her arms around his neck.

"Hands above your head, now!" Lestrade yelled.

Melissa stepped away to see that they were surrounded by police officers, guns trained on Damian. She moved her right hand to her back pocket and procured a pair of handcuffs.

"You're under arrest," Melissa said, approaching him. She spun him around and placed the handcuffs upon his hands. "You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say or do can and will be held against you in a court of law…"

* * *

**Thanks for reading! Please review!**


	15. The First Kiss

**Author's Note: Make sure you've read the previous chapter. I updated chapters 14 and 15 at almost the same time.**

**Also, both this chapter and the last one are different than they were when I'd originally posted them. Please reread them as I've made some changes. Explanation in the last chapter.**

**Chapter Fifteen: The First Kiss**

* * *

Melissa walked up the stairs to her flat and took her keys from her purse. She had just inserted them into the lock when she heard someone behind her say, "Melissa."

She immediately placed the voice as James'. She turned to see that he stood at the bottom of the flight of steps.

"James," she said in response.

"Have fun tonight?" he asked nonchalantly.

"Yes, actually," Melissa replied. "Were you spying on me?"

"No," James answered. "But my men are everywhere."

"Is that supposed to scare me or something?" she queried.

Instead of responding, James walked up the steps and stopped right in front of Melissa on the landing right in front of her flat.

"Who was the guy you were kissing?" he demanded.

"Why, you jealous?" she teased.

James took a step towards her, and Melissa knew that he was not messing around.

"A criminal," she said. "We were setting him up."

"And you had to kiss him to set him up?" James practically yelled.

"I didn't kiss him!" she yelled back. "I let him kiss me briefly, but it was all just part of the plan."

"Why didn't you tell me?" he said in an eerily quiet voice.

"I didn't think that my job concerned _you_," Melissa replied. "We aren't _together_."

"If you're kissing another man, I want to know," he said roughly.

"That's what this is about?" she asked, incredulous. Then she said sarcastically, "Well next time I have to kiss a suspect, I'll make sure to get your permission first."

James took a few steps toward her and she stumbled backwards a little. He wasn't just mad anymore; he was fuming. His eyes were completely black and Melissa could tell that he was so mad that anything could happen without him giving it a second thought.

"Is that what you do? Kiss criminals, then arrest them?" he asked in a dangerous tone.

"Criminals belong in jail," Melissa responded.

James eyes seemed to blaze for a few seconds before his expression suddenly changed.

"If you really thought that, you'd be in jail right now," he said softly, like he was teasing her. His mouth was also in a slight smirk. "And so would I."

Melissa's eyes filled with tears; she couldn't help it. She hated to let James see how much this was killing her inside when no one was around.

She briefly closed her eyes and a tear slid down her cheek. He reached out and lightly wiped her tear away with his thumb.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. She opened her eyes to see that James' expression had changed once more, this time to softness. He stared into her eyes for a few seconds before he turned to leave.

"Wait," Melissa said softly, grabbing his arm. He slowly turned to face her once more.

She looked into his eyes once more and saw that he looked sad.

She grabbed his tie and pulled to close the distance between them. And she kissed him.

Her arms found their way around his neck and his arms slowly wound around her waist, pulling her closer.

James' tongue touched her lips and she opened them.

She was snogging James Moriarty, Consulting Criminal, on her front steps, in full view of the street, but she didn't care.

They were only a few steps away from her front door, and James pushed her up against it, never breaking the kiss.

Melissa had no idea how much time passed before the opening chords of _Stayin' Alive _began to play, but she was pretty certain it was almost an eternity.

James pulled away, removing a hand from her waist to take his phone from his pocket. He looked at the screen before hitting ignore. He replaced the phone to his pocket and looked up at Melissa once more.

"I have to go," he whispered before kissing her again. But only a short time later, he pulled away and stepped back. "I'll call you later."

Melissa nodded and watched him walk down the street. She picked her purse up from the ground, not even remembering when she had dropped it. She turned the key, as it was still in the lock. Once inside, she closed the door and slid down it.

She wanted him. She wanted to feel his hands all over her, feel his lips roam everywhere, stare into his eyes and finally decide what color they really are.

God, she wanted him. Bad.

So much for never seeing him again.

* * *

A little while later, Melissa's phone rang.

"Hello, James," she said, answering it.

"Hi Melissa," he replied.

"What's up?" she asked.

"Nothing," he answered. "I just wanted to hear your voice."

Melissa smiled.

"I missed you," she told him.

"I haven't been gone for long," James replied, referring to when they'd kissed.

"No, I mean I've missed you for the past few days," she said.

"I've missed you too," he told her.

"What are you doing now?" she inquired.

"I'm about to get on a plane to Taiwan. Business calls," James answered.

"Oh. I was hoping you could come over," Melissa said.

"One minute, you never want to see me again, the next you can't get enough of me," he replied light-heartedly.

"Well you did say you're Mr. Sex," she said, trying not to laugh.

"So you agree," he said.

"Well I wouldn't know, seeing as we've never – " she broke off when she realized what she'd been about to say.

James laughed quietly. "Well now I know you want to."

Melissa was blushing madly, alone, in her flat.

"I don't think I said that," she said, trying to backtrack.

"Oh, but you did," he replied sexily.

"I – " she began, but stopped as she had no idea what to say.

"Speechless already?" he joked.

"Shut up, James," she laughed.

"When I get back, I'm proving that I _am _Mr. Sex," he told her.

"That seems like a huge promise. Are you sure you can live up to it?" Melissa countered.

"Absolutely," he promised.

And to be honest, she couldn't wait.

* * *

**Thanks for reading! Until next time... :)**


	16. The Intruder

**Author's Note: Finally over my writer's block. I've recently started seeing someone named James and continuing to write this story was a little awkward at first. But as he's nothing like Moriarty, it turned out to not be a big deal. Anyway, enjoy this chapter! x**

**Chapter Sixteen: The Intruder**

* * *

The next afternoon, Melissa sat at her desk, glancing over some case files. She wasn't really reading anything though. Instead, she was replaying the kiss over and over again in her mind. She closed her eyes. She could feel his arms wrap slowly around her waist and bring her closer…

"Melissa."

Melissa opened her eyes and looked up.

"Sherlock." She tried to make her face impassive, hoping against hope that nothing would give her away.

"Great job last night," he said, walking closer to her desk.

"Thank you," she replied.

"About the other night…" Sherlock paused. After a moment, he continued, "Are you alright?"

Melissa was taken aback. Sherlock…caring?

"Yes," she answered him truthfully. "Thank you, for calming me down. I really appreciate it."

Sherlock didn't answer, just sort of nodding instead.

"You can't care too much in this profession," he finally said.

"I'm aware of that. This case just brought me back to the death of my father," she responded, averting her gaze from his.

He stayed silent again. After a few seconds she looked back at him.

"Just be careful, Melissa," Sherlock warned before he turned to leave.

* * *

Much later that day, Melissa lay on the couch in her living room, listening to some classical music to unwind after her long day at work. The doorbell interrupted her relaxation. She wasn't expecting anyone, but it seemed that people just decided to show up unannounced on her doorstep fairly often as of late. She really didn't want to get up though. She glanced at the clock to see that it was nearly 11 at night.

Who the hell would be here at this hour?

Whoever it was was not going to get an answer from her. She closed her eyes again, just listening to the music. Her phone vibrated on the table, indicating that she'd received a text, but she couldn't reach it from where she was. Reaching it would involve moving, and she was decidedly done for the day. Her phone vibrated twice more, signifying that she'd gotten two more texts. If it were really that important, she knew that whoever it was would just call her instead.

Suddenly Melissa heard a faint noise coming from her front door. She opened her eyes and tried to listen more closely. She had no idea what the sound was. Slowly, she sat up just as she heard the lock of her door turn. She grabbed her purse off the table near her feet and pulled her gun out. The sound of the door opening reached her just as she leapt over the back of the couch so she'd be hidden from view when the intruder entered the living room. The door closed and she heard whoever it was relock it.

The intruder took a few slow steps towards the living room, obviously creeping about. Melissa held her breath, weighing her options in the situation. The footsteps stopped as soon as the intruder entered the living room, obviously taking it all in.

Melissa decided that now was her chance. She stood up, aiming her gun at the intruder.

"Must we always conduct our conversations at gunpoint?" James asked, arching an eyebrow. He was clad in suit and tie, as usual.

"James?" Melissa asked, incredulously.

"I took the liberty of letting myself in since you couldn't be bothered to answer the door. I texted you, by the way," he replied lazily.

She lowered her gun. "I thought you were in Taiwan."

"I was," he countered. "Everything went according to plan."

She nodded slowly.

"Well are you going to invite me in or…?" he trailed off.

"Invite a man who's just broken into my flat inside?" she asked.

He just looked at her expectantly.

Rolling her eyes, she gestured towards the couch that she'd just been lounging on.

He made himself comfortable on the couch and she placed the gun back on the table.

"Do you want anything to drink or – "

"Come here," James interrupted her. She made her way to the couch and sat next to him. "I hope you realize why I'm here."

"Why?" she asked, playing dumb.

"Mmmm, I think you know why," he replied, his voice a low purr as he leaned towards her.

His lips touched hers. One of his hands tangled itself in her hair, the other wound its way around her waist. Her own arms snaked around his neck. Soon their tongues were battling for dominance. James' hand slowly moved from her waist down to her thigh as he guided her back so that she was lying on the couch. He lay on top of her, feeling her heart beat in her chest, their lips still locked. Her hands moved down to his back and she tried to hold him as close as possible.

He detached his lips from hers and kissed from her jaw down to her neck. His teeth softly raked the bare skin of her neck and she smiled because it felt great. He sucked and kissed his way along her neck until suddenly, he hit a spot that made her breath hitch. He hit it again, and this time she moaned. He smiled to himself, making note of the spot for a later date.

He again focused his attention on her lips, reattaching his to hers. They continued to kiss for a few minutes before he pulled away and sat up, leaving Melissa lying on the couch where he'd left her.

"What the hell are you doing?" Melissa asked, sitting up herself.

"I don't know that you're ready for me just yet," James replied, locking eyes with her.

"What do you mean, not ready for you?" she retorted.

"If this is how you act from just kissing me, you're really going to lose it when – "

Melissa cut him off, kissing him passionately and moving so that she straddled him. She wove her hands into his hair and kissed him with all the passion she was feeling for him at that very moment. His hands made their way to her waist again, holding her tightly. As she kissed him, her entire body moved, causing her hips to move against his. She kept kissing him, and he let out an involuntary moan.

His breathing was becoming heavier and she could feel his heart beat quickening. James didn't usually like not being in control, but he was thoroughly enjoying himself. She kissed along his jawline and he let his head fall back on the couch, letting her do whatever she pleased. She kissed down his neck, leaving a few marks that most certainly would be seen later. She stopped kissing his neck for a second to loosen his tie and unbutton the first few buttons of his shirt. She placed a few kisses on his chest, admiring his pectoral muscles.

She pulled away from him for a moment just to look at him. His eyes were closed, a smile playing on his lips, his hair messed up from her hands running through it, his tie loose, shirt unbuttoned. She smiled. It was a good look for him.

He slowly opened his eyes and caught her staring at him. They simply gazed into each other's eyes for a few moments before both of them went in for another passionate kiss.

* * *

A while later, Melissa leaned her head on James' chest, just listening to his heartbeat. It had slowed considerably since they'd stopped kissing and Melissa found it to be rather soothing. Classical music still floated softly through the air. James' arm was wrapped around her waist and every once in a while, he'd move his fingers, the only evidence that he was still awake. She still sat on his lap, but now they were in a much more comfortable position. His chin rested on the top of her head and they sat in a comfortable silence.

Melissa liked seeing this side of him. It proved that he wasn't the cold, hard criminal that he usually pretended to be. She knew he was a sociopath, acting the way others wanted him to. But somehow she believed that this was real. No one, not even the best actor, could fake something like this.

"What are you thinking about?" James asked quietly.

"Mmm…you," she answered truthfully.

He let out a small chuckle as he readjusted his arm on her waist.

"What about me?" he queried.

"You're an amazing kisser," she replied, not wanting to divulge what she'd been pondering. She did, however, agree with the statement she'd just made.

James smiled.

"So are you." His soft Irish lilt added a certain sexiness to what he said.

Melissa smiled too.

"I thought you were supposed to be proving that you're Mr. Sex," she whispered flirtatiously.

His hand stroked her side lightly.

"If I prove it to you already, what will you have to look forward to?" he responded softly.

"I'm starting to think that you're all talk," she teased.

"But you just said that I'm an amazing kisser. That's something," he backtracked. "And I'd just like to remind you that my name isn't Mr. _Kiss_, its Mr. _Sex_. Take that as you will, Melissa."

He had a good point.

She laughed suddenly. James stiffened a little.

"What?" he asked defensively.

She continued laughing a little bit.

"What?" he demanded again. "Why are you laughing?"

"Don't worry, I'm not laughing at you," Melissa reassured him. He relaxed again. "I'm just thinking about how you got the idea that you're Mr. Sex. Like how that even comes up in conversation."

"What can I say, I'm a ladies man," he replied with a little shrug. He paused for a moment, before adding, "And it wasn't really in conversation. I'm in bed with this girl and out of nowhere she looks up at me and just says to me, 'You're Mr. Sex if I've ever met one.' And for the first time in my life, I'm pretty sure I had no idea how to respond to something." Melissa giggled softly. "She wasn't very smart, but I _really _liked that thought."

"And so now you just spread that around?" Melissa asked.

"Well its true, so why not?" he whispered.

"Cocky, aren't we?" she said.

"Of course," James murmured directly into her ear. "It works as a great pick-up line."

"Oh really?"

"Mhmm, all the ladies want to see if it's true," he continued, his breath lightly tickling her ear. "And I can guarantee that I don't disappoint."

"And just how many 'ladies' have you slept with?" she queried.

"How many gentlemen have you slept with?" he countered effortlessly.

"Fair enough," she responded, letting it go. James moved his lips to just below her ear, lightly touching them to her neck. She let out a breath. "What do you want with me then?"

His lips stilled on her neck. He pulled away to look into her eyes.

"It was easy to slip my way in and out of other women's lives with one-night stands because they were all dumb. But you, you're different than everyone else. You're so much smarter. You think like me. You understand how I think. You are like no one I've ever met before, not even Sherlock Holmes," he told her.

"That doesn't answer my question though," she prompted him. "What do you want with me?"

"I don't want you to be a one-night stand." He stopped, deciding how to say this. "I feel…different than I've ever felt with anyone else. A good sort of different."

"You're just saying that," Melissa said, dismissing him and moving to stand up.

He stopped her with the hand on her waist and pulled her close again.

"No, I'm not just saying it." And the way he looked at her made her believe his every word.

She touched her lips gently to his.

"Don't tell anyone or I'll have to kill you," he threatened when she'd pulled away.

* * *

**I felt like Moriarty was slightly out of character, but I really liked how the chapter turned out. I tried to make him his old self by the end with that last line. Hope you enjoyed it. I'm working on the next chapter already, so hopefully it'll be up soon. Sorry for the delay. Love you all. x**


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